


Thicker Than Water

by MissAppropriation



Series: Time War Team [6]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alliances, Ancestors, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassination, Betrayal, Bigotry & Prejudice, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Cartoon references, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Childhood Friends, Choices, Closure, Cognitive Dissonance, Complicated Relationships, Descent into Madness, Desperation, Dissociation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ethical Dilemmas, Everyone Needs A Hug, Execution, Families of Choice, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fear of Discovery, Fix-It of Sorts, Folk Heroes, Foreshadowing, Forgot to tag for the TARDIS :), Free Will, Gallifrey, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Heavy Angst, Hiding, Hurt No Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Hate Rassilon, I'm Sorry, Identity Issues, Immaturity, Implied/Referenced Torture, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loyalty, Major Character Injury, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mother-Son Relationship, Nightmares, Not quite but it's darn close..., POV The Master (Doctor Who), Power Imbalance, Promises, Protectiveness, Psychic Violence, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rassilon Is The Worst, Recovered Memories, Revelations, Running Away, Sadism, Shame, Slice of Life, Strategy & Tactics, Telepathy, The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who) Friendship, The Master Has Issues, The Master Has Issues (Doctor Who), The Master's Drums (Doctor Who), This is still Canon compliant, Time War (Doctor Who), Trauma, UGHHH RASSILON, War Crimes, Weapons of Mass Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAppropriation/pseuds/MissAppropriation
Summary: The Master was resurrected for a purpose: to fight, to win. Rassilon didn't become the undying President of Gallifrey by leaving things to chance. I've written a few fics about the better days in the Time War; this one is about the bad days. All trauma is fully Canon Compliant but please mind the warnings. Rated M for violence and generally dark themes. Gen.
Relationships: The Doctor & K9 (Doctor Who), The Doctor & The Master & K9, The Doctor & The Master & The Doctor's TARDIS, The Doctor & The Master (Doctor Who), The Master & Rassilon, The Master & The Doctor's TARDIS, The War Doctor & Rassilon, The War Doctor & The Master (Jacobi), Twelfth Doctor & The Master (Simm)
Series: Time War Team [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1342192
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this in less than three weeks and hated every second of it. But I'm about as proud of it as anything I've written. Please be aware, this is the darkest thing I have posted to date. **CONSISTENT THEMES OF MIND CONTROL, VIOLENCE AND CHILD ABUSE.** Check the tags, they are mostly in order of occurrence within the story, if you want to get a sense of the arc here.
> 
> The concept I began with was to dedicate a fic to the darker Time War Team stuff: namely, the stuff surrounding Rassilon. It was supposed to be like four scenes but... It _grew_. For those of you following this series, the first scene picks up right after Home ends, and goes all the way through to when the Master runs from the War.
> 
> For those of you _not_ up to date on this series, you can read this alone... The Master was resurrected as a kid and doesn't age, the Drums are mind control forcing him to fight for Gallifrey, and he has pieces of the Doctor's personality in his head. That's about all you need to know.
> 
> For those of you who want to skim through the better parts, might I suggest Chapters 8 and 16; those are the nicer ones and worth a read, I think.
> 
> I'll be posting this all at once. All Canon-complaint, but VERY expanded. I've worked a long time on this headcanon.

Chapter 1 

The Master was asleep, floating in an ocean of golden light.

He would have been perfectly content to stay there, as he had for an indeterminate number of years...

But there were sounds from outside, a sense of wrongness and danger nagging at his consciousness.

A persistent knocking sound pulling him out of sleep.

He frowned, realizing he'd have to face the waking world again.

The Master opened his eyes with a regretful sigh to find himself cocooned in blankets under the TARDIS Console. He glanced around, noting the changes to the room. It was spacious, the floor steel and concrete. The walls were white, the far corners slightly shadowed, so much like how the TARDIS had looked when they had first met, so long ago. 

The biggest change was the coral pillars surrounding the Console, supporting the high ceiling.

The Master stared at them, puzzled. New TARDISes were grown from such coral but it was seldom seen once the ships were complete.

Perhaps in dire emergencies... Or when the damage was so great that it couldn't be patched together or covered up.

 _Energy deficit_ , the Doctor had said... How bad must things be for the TARDIS to have sustained damage she couldn't repair properly?

_'Hello, Little One. Do you like my new design?'_

The Master smiled. It was fun having someone to talk to in his head. And the TARDIS's voice carried the warm, golden glow with it, chasing out the cold.

 _"I do, yes,"_ he replied internally. He indicated the coral pillars. _"What happened, though? What's going on?"_

 _'You are about to find out,'_ she responded. _'Do not be afraid, we will both take care of you.'_

He didn't quite understand that. But that was often the way with the TARDIS. In their years together, he'd come to accept her strange sense of timing, the way she communicated at her own pace.

She nudged his attention towards the exterior doors. They were ajar, and the Doctor stood there, having a hushed conversation with someone outside. They seemed to be disagreeing over something.

The Master couldn't make out the words.

"Doctor?" he called out.

The Doctor stopped and turned. The voice on the other side of the doors started up again but the Doctor just waved it off dismissively and shut the door in the unseen person's face.

He hurried over to the Console, settling on the floor with a reassuring smile. "Good morning," he said. "How are you feeling?"

The Master rubbed his new face with his own unfamiliar hands and sat up. "Alright, I guess," he said. Adjusting to a new body always took some time, as the Doctor was well aware. It was just like the Doctor to focus on insignificant pleasantries when he should be answering important questions.

Such as _why_ they were on Gallifrey, for starters.

And why he was alive again.

The Doctor was just sitting there, watching him with a quiet smile and that light of curiosity in his eyes.

He must have a million questions himself...

He'd have to wait his turn.

"Doctor," the Master said with his most no-nonsense expression. He wasn't quite sure how it would play on his new face but he wasn't ready to worry about that yet. "What's going on?"

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably and glanced away. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Such as?" the Master prompted. Sometimes dragging pertinent information from the Doctor was like pulling teeth.

A tentative knocking came from the TARDIS doors.

_Knock knock knock knock._

The Master got distracted for a moment, wondering who was out there.

The sound echoed in his head even after it had faded from the air.

Then the Doctor had laid a hand on his shoulder. The Doctor's eyes were serious and sad. "There's something we need to talk about."

The Master's hearts picked up their pace. Suddenly he was afraid... More than that, filled with the dread of knowing that something irreversible was approaching. A turning point. Knowledge which would change everything, which couldn't be taken back.

_Knock knock knock knock._

The Doctor sighed, disgusted. "Will they never stop?"

He scrambled to his feet and opened the door just long enough to snap at the messenger outside. "We will be there when we get there. Not one moment sooner. Tell him that from me." He slammed the door shut again and returned to his seat on the TARDIS floor.

The Master just stared at his friend, wondering if his new face looked as frightened as he felt.

Possibly so, because the Doctor smiled and inched a bit closer. "So, ah... You missed a few things while you were dead. Things are... Bad."

"Bad _how_ ?" the Master demanded, his voice breaking with stress. Why couldn't the Doctor just spit it _out_ already?

"War," the Doctor said. His tone was grim but his eyes were so gentle. "Gallifrey is at war."

The Master let his gaze fall, taking a moment to process this information. "With _whom_?" he asked incredulously after a moment.

Who would be foolish enough to try to fight _the Time Lords_?

"Daleks," the Doctor said. And now he just looked tired. Tired and still so sad.

The Master's new eyes widened as he realized just how bad that was. "Oh... No..." he said.

"Yes," the Doctor agreed. "And it's worse than that. We're losing."

The Master laughed in outright disbelief at that. "Don't be ridiculous. We can't be _losing_!"

Gallifreyan society was ancient and immensely powerful. The Master could believe the Daleks would have the audacity to challenge that, could even imagine subduing that uprising could be difficult.

But... _Losing?_

It couldn't be true.

But as he looked at his old friend's haunted eyes, he saw that it _was_ true.

His mind reeled.

And when it landed on solid ground again, it was with a far worse thought.

Had the Doctor been fighting this War _alone_?

For how long?

 _"How long?"_ he asked the TARDIS.

 _'Too long...'_ she replied.

The Master crawled out from under the Console and stood to put a hand on his friend's shoulder. It looked so small, even to him. He gave the Doctor the most confident smile he could manage. "You should have brought me back sooner," he said.

"I suppose I should have, yes," the Doctor agreed, returning the smile wanly.

"I bet we can win," the Master said, raising an eyebrow. "Now that I'm here."

He actually had no idea what the situation was, though it was clearly desperate. He was scared and in strangely unfamiliar territory and far, far behind on what had been happening... 

But he didn't have to believe it himself. 

Not yet. 

He just had to fool the Doctor.

It seemed to be working. He managed to drag a more genuine smile out of the Doctor. "On that note..." the Doctor said. "The President wants to meet you. So we should probably go do that at some point. Not yet though, not if you're not ready."

The Master remembered that insistent knocking and shook his head. "No, better get it over with."

It seemed he'd have his work cut out for him. He should get started as soon as possible.

The Doctor climbed to his feet. The Master looked up at him with an amused grimace. This was a new record in terms of their height difference. 

The Doctor must be loving this.

"Off we go, then," the Doctor said in an optimistic tone, dusting off his trousers habitually.

Getting to know this Doctor would be a very interesting experience. It was difficult to imagine the Doctor fighting a war for Gallifrey but already this Doctor was not what he would have expected in such a situation.

The Master had a lot to catch up on.

"Who's the President these days?" the Master thought to ask as they reached the TARDIS doors.

"Oh yes, ah... Rassilon, actually."

" _Rassilon_? Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

The Master paused, thinking of the Time Lady who had been President when he'd died.

"What happened to Romana?" he frowned.

The Doctor just shook his head, expression unreadable.

The Master regarded him, concerned, and made a note to ask about that again later.

"So they brought _Rassilon_ back, too?" he mused. Were they just making a habit of resurrecting deceased Time Lords? That was... Worrying.

Although, as a policy, it was working out for him so far.

"Seems like he's not doing such a great job, though," the Master continued. "I mean, since we're losing." Perhaps all the stories they had grown up with of Rassilon the Redeemer, Founder of Time Lord society, had been exaggerations. 

Which was something of a shame, since there was much speculation and few answers about the extent of Rassilon's real powers.

The Master had always wondered if he was as impressive as the legends made him sound.

The Master had met one of Rassilon's contemporaries but had been busy with other things at the time. Curiosity had been the last thing on his list at the time and he hadn't stopped to ask Omega questions.

Far from missing his chance, it seemed he'd now have an opportunity to find out firsthand.

"What's he like?" the Master asked his friend curiously.

"Pretty much how you'd expect," the Doctor said with a sour expression.

"Hm," the Master responded. "This should be interesting. I've always wanted to meet Rassilon."

The Doctor gave him an odd look. Then they were outside the TARDIS and there were two Chancellery guards waiting to escort them to the Presidential chambers.

They walked through the drab, featureless corridors of the Capitol. So familiar yet now so alien. 

There was a scent in the air, like electrical fires, like week-old rubbish, like despair...

The scent of the Universe falling apart around them.

He didn't like being outside of the TARDIS.

The Master reached up instinctively to hold onto the Doctor's leather coat. Instead, the Doctor caught the Master's small hand in his own and held it tightly.

It was a relief. An anchor in a sea of fear.

The entrance to Rassilon's personal quarters were enormous, dwarfing even the adults, making everyone in the group seem smaller than they were. The doors swung open and the Master shivered at the blast of frigid air from within.

He wasn't even certain that it was real, physical cold. His child body seemed to be sensing things on a level he was unaccustomed to.

Wonderful timing...

The chaos of a Time War would be resulting in a constant and varied array of unpleasant signals cascading out into the Universe.

The Master braced himself and tried to stop shivering.

Rough gray stone and polished obsidian met them as they entered. Crimson draperies hung around the massive stone pillars supporting a vaulted ceiling, stretching high above into darkness.

Like a palace.

Like a tomb.

And at the end of the room, in what could only be described as a throne, sprawled a figure. Statuesque but very much alive. The picture of frustrated power. A great man who had been made to wait.

He stirred as they approached, leaning forward with quiet eagerness.

"My Lord Master," he smiled. "Welcome home."

His eyes were pale and luminous, giving the impression of being the only light in the room.

The Master wondered why his view was gradually being obscured until he realized he was shrinking into the Doctor's leather coat. He wanted to stop, to present himself confidently as he always did but all of his instincts were screaming at him to run and hide and it was deafening.

The Doctor put a hand out to his head, as if to pull him even closer. "It's alright," he said softly. "I'm right here."

The Master couldn't find his voice so he just nodded.

"Nothing to say?" Rassilon inquired. "We specifically ordered a body with vocal chords." He smiled like it was a joke but his eyes were cruel.

The Doctor stiffened.

The Master narrowed his eyes and shoved the Doctor's hand away. Because he was _the Master_. He wasn't going to be intimidated by _anyone_. He'd communed with gods and demons and powers so old they had been forgotten by the oldest races in existence. He had held the entire Universe in his hands. He had survived death itself. 

And after all, what was Rassilon, undying President of Gallifrey? Just one more blinkered, arrogant Time Lord, judging all of reality from the safety of his barren, living tomb.

The Master was so much more.

The Master had lived lives others Time Lords couldn't even have imagined.

He'd wielded power he suspected even Rassilon couldn't comprehend.

He knew secrets Rassilon would kill for, answers to questions the President couldn't even think to ask.

He was the Master.

And if there was one thing he could do, it was talk.

He stepped forward, standing on his own, tiny in the enormous stone room. Remembering everything he was despite what he seemed right now.

A body was just a vessel.

And he owed Rassilon _nothing_.

"And what were you expecting me to say with these new vocal chords?" he asked in open defiance.

"I'd expect you to thank the man who resurrected you from death," Rassilon suggested smugly.

Technically, he had died, yes. But living as pure consciousness within the TARDIS had been far from death...

But he'd keep that to himself. Let Rassilon wonder.

That was _his_.

" _Thank_ you?" the Master challenged, perhaps unwisely but with no regrets. "For bringing me into your Time War?"

Rassilon's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "The Doctor told you."

The Master smirked. "He told me you're _losing_."

"The War is won and lost a thousand times a day," Rassilon stated, ego seemingly stung.

The Master smiled, knowing he'd scored a point with that one.

"So..." the Master gloated, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows judgmentally. "The Great Rassilon needs my help."

"Gallifrey needs all her children if we are to win." He shot a significant look in the Doctor's direction. "No matter how we may feel about them personally."

The Master took a moment to snicker. It seemed the Doctor was up to his old habits of irritating his superiors. He never had learned how to play nice with authority figures.

It was nice to know that hadn't changed.

"Naturally," the Master agreed. He cocked his head to the side with deliberate impertinence. "And how many others have you bought back from the dead?"

The President smiled, cold enough to make the Master shiver again. "Sadly, resurrection is not generally an option."

"Only in special cases, then," the Master smirked, ignoring the chill to pursue his advantage. He knew they'd gone to a lot of trouble to have him here... That much was obvious. But it was nice to make Rassilon admit it. 

On the Gallifrey the Master had left, it was unheard-of to have an entirely new body constructed for a dead Time Lord.

They must really need him. 

That was good. That gave him a strong bargaining position. 

How the tables had turned...

It had been centuries now but the Time Lords' punishment for his "crimes" still lived fresh in his memory.

As if they cared what he had done out in the Universe. No, they had attempted to execute him, stolen his remaining regenerations because they were afraid. Threatened by anyone who knew so many of their secrets, who would be willing to actually _use_ that knowledge.

They'd caught him that time purely by accident.

Never again.

The Master made certain from that day forth that he always had an offer too valuable to refuse in case his life was ever threatened again.

That he was too important, too indispensable to lose.

It seemed that policy had played out in an interesting and unexpected direction this time.

Rassilon wanted something. Something he believed only the Master could supply.

The Master may be a guest in this throne room but he knew who truly held all the power here.

And it wasn't the man in the throne.

He graced the President with an up-and-down glance. "Seems _you_ weren't as dead as everyone said."

"Nor you," Rassilon replied. And there was a look in his green eyes which might have been respect.

The Master shrugged nonchalantly. "You can't believe everything you hear," he said. "Why me?" he asked then.

"Because your reputation precedes you, my Lord Master," Rassilon said.

The Master smiled, pleased to know that people talked about him. He wondered what stories they told.

He hoped they were accurate.

Rassilon was staring at him, seemingly deep in thought. Like he was waiting for something. "I look forward to our... Alliance," Rassilon told the Master. "I think we shall do great things together, you and I."

And here it was: the moment the Master had been waiting for, when he cemented his role as the superior in this relationship. Because the Master didn't work for _anyone_. Not without getting something back. 

He started thinking about what he could bargain for.

A sound stopped him.

Rassilon was drumming his fingers idly on the arm of his throne.

The Master lost focus, his gaze held by the rhythmic motion of the tapping.

_One two three four._

The repetition of it filled his head, crowding out everything else.

Abruptly, it ceased.

The Master found he'd forgotten what he'd been about to say.

Instead, he recalled Rassilon's words.

 _"Great things..."_ he had said. " _Together."_

Rassilon leaned forward in his stone chair. "Next time, be ready when I summon you," he commanded. His words held a thinly-veiled threat and his eyes moved to the Doctor again.

Normally, the Master would have bridled at the implication that he could just be _summoned_ at the whim of someone else, even if that person was the founding father of Time Lord society himself.

But instead, for some reason, he just nodded.

It had been a long day. Coming back to life was confusing.

Nothing was quite the way he remembered it...

Rassilon turned away, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.

The Master frowned, dissatisfied. Somehow, the conversation had gotten away from him, though it had been going well initially.

He felt the Doctor lay a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

The Master started towards the door with the Doctor but turned back around to look at the President. 

Rassilon saw and smiled, shark-like.

Then they were back out in the drab halls of Gallifrey. The Master sighed, as if he hadn't even been able to breathe.

The Doctor got down on one knee, concerned face hovering at the Master's new eye level. "Hey. You doing alright?"

The Master took another deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. Fine."

"You sure?" the Doctor frowned. "Because you seem a little..."

"What?" the Master asked.

"Different," the Doctor finished uncertainly.

The Master scoffed and spread his arms wide, demonstrating his full three and a half foot wingspan. "Different? In what way?" he asked sarcastically.

The Doctor chuckled and stood. "Well, you do have a point there. I suppose you've had a somewhat interesting day."

"You could say that, yeah," the Master agreed wryly. He looked down at his Gallifrey-standard robe. "I need some new clothes. You think the TARDIS has anything in my size?"

"I'm sure she can figure it out," the Doctor assured him, eyes twinkling. "She's good with sizes."

The Master laughed out loud. Not for effect. Just because the Doctor was really funny.

Apparently his sense of humor was more pronounced in his current form.

Which was fortunate, as his current form was also blatantly ridiculous.

"Hey," the Master finally thought to ask. "Does this mean I have a new set of regenerations again?"

"Oh! Yes," the Doctor smiled down at him. "Whole new regeneration cycle. Thirteen more chances to get your beard just right," he teased, nudging the Master's chin. "Although it'll be a few years before you can start working on that."

"Ugh, you're right..." the Master realized. "I'm going to have to grow up all over again. Wow, I kind of hate this," he said, surprised at his own honesty. Apparently his current incarnation also didn't have much of a filter.

"I know," the Doctor sympathized. "On the bright side, you did manage to survive to adulthood the first time." He made a face. "... Barely," he added. "Maybe be more careful with these ones."

"Yes, well," the Master pointed out, "I'm sure the Daleks will have something to say about that."

"Not for a while, I would hope," the Doctor muttered, unlocking the TARDIS door.

"What do you mean?" the Master asked.

The Doctor turned to face him. "I'm not taking you out there until you're ready."

The Master squinted at him, confused. "I'm ready. Why wouldn't I be ready?"

"Let's just make sure you're settled first, alright? Come on, inside." The Master regarded the Doctor suspiciously. The Doctor just looked at him, forehead slightly furrowed. Uncomfortable. Confused, maybe. 

And there was something in his eyes that the Master didn't recall seeing when the Doctor had interacted with him in past lives. 

Something _protective_.

But the Master didn't _need_ protection. Especially not from the Doctor.

The Master stalked past him into the TARDIS, his temper rising. "It's cause I'm small, isn't it?" It sounded unimpressive but he felt the need to get the story straight. He spun around, arms crossed. "You think I can't fight the Daleks cause I'm too _little_? Is that it?"

"No," the Doctor said patiently with the twitch of a smile. "I just want to be certain that you're ready."

The Master grimaced impatiently. "You're going to what, wait until I'm older? Cause, honestly, I doubt the Daleks are going to go along with that." The Doctor had the most absurdly unrealistic expectations sometimes.

The Doctor smiled kindly. "We'll talk about it later."

The Master opened his mouth to argue but the Doctor cut him off before he could say anything.

"You hungry?" the Doctor asked.

"Ooh," the Master realized. "Yes, actually. Starving." He laughed. "It's been a few hundred years since I ate breakfast, probably time for lunch now, right?"

"Probably," the Doctor agreed amiably. "Let's see what we can find for you."

"Do you have cereal?" the Master asked. "I really want some cereal..."

"Cereal..." the Doctor mused. "I think so. Let's find out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, thanks for clicking on the Next Chapter button! Here you go.

Chapter 2

It was almost a week before Rassilon pushed them both out into the War.

They spent the week talking, the Master trying to catch up on what he had missed, both of the War and the Doctor's life.

The Doctor occasionally tried to ask about how the Master had ended up in the TARDIS but the Master just shrugged and told him it was a long story.

It was.

A long story he never intended to tell.

He'd taken care of it and the Doctor would never need to know how bad things could have been.

Everything was going pretty well, overall. There were adjustments to be made, certainly. But they started to settle into a routine. And Daleks started to die faster on all fronts.

The Doctor and the Master made a _very_ effective team, as they always had, whenever circumstances dictated the need for an alliance.

Then, one day, the Doctor was called away and the Master stayed behind in the TARDIS, watching television.

There was a knock at the door.

He ignored it. People were always coming to bug the Doctor about War-related stuff. But he worked on his own schedule, as the Doctor always had. 

The knocking came again.

_Knock knock knock knock._

The Master rolled his eyes and got up to answer the door.

He glared up at the random guard standing outside. "The Doctor's not here," he said.

"I've actually been sent for you, Lord Master," the man responded somewhat timidly.

"Oh, _really_?" The Master crossed his arms with a self-satisfied smirk and leaned against the doorframe of the TARDIS. For once, someone had come for _him_. He'd make sure the Doctor heard about that later. "Sent by whom?"

"President Rassilon, sir," the guard said.

The President himself. That was flattering.

"Don't call me _sir_..." the Master laughed. "I'm not the Doctor." People calling the Doctor _sir_ was endlessly funny.

They should all be calling him _idiot_.

Maybe that could be his new name, since he apparently refused to be _the Doctor_ anymore.

Like he had a choice.

The Master had been calling him Doctor for most of their lives. The Doctor didn't get to unceremoniously change that now.

He made a mental note to bring that up again with the Doctor later. But for now, he apparently had an important meeting to get to.

 _"Be right back,"_ he said to the TARDIS.

 _'Wait for the Doctor, Little One,'_ she responded. She sounded sad.

The Master thought about his last audience with Rassilon, his instructions to come when summoned.

Did she think he couldn't manage on his own?

He didn't need the Doctor just to have a _conversation_.

 _"I can take care of myself,"_ he thought dismissively to the TARDIS.

The lights blinked and there was an unhappy whir.

The Master ignored it. 

"Lead the way," he said to the guard.

As they made their way through the halls of the Capitol, the Master noticed the guard staring at him.

"What?" the Master asked finally.

He was getting used to people reacting strangely to his current body.

"Are you really him? The Master?" the guard asked uncertainly.

The Master smirked. "I am, yes. You've heard of me, then?" he preened.

"People talk," the guard replied.

"And what do they say?" the Master asked, happy to hear any stories about himself.

"That you can't be killed. That the High Council themselves tried, many times. That you deposed them as punishment. That you were the finest agent the CIA ever had, before you became a renegade." He glanced at the Master sideways. "That you can control anyone just by looking at them."

The Master stopped and turned his blue eyes on the guard. "Looking for a demonstration?" he asked mischievously.

The guard glanced away hurriedly. "No! No, thanks."

The Master snickered and kept walking.

"So, how much of that is true?" the guard asked after a few moments.

The Master thought back over the list he'd heard. "Most of it, actually," he confirmed. They'd left out a lot of the good parts. And it was a bit reductive... The guard had said _deposing the High Council_ as if that had been some quick, easy task. Like the Master had done it on a whim to pass a slow evening.

That had taken months of work. Planning and alliances and the imagination to accomplish what everyone else would have thought impossible.

And apparently everyone had assumed that his sole motivation had been revenge.

Well... That was for the best.

Let them underestimate his real motives. That had always worked in his favor in the past.

"You know, some people say you don't even exist," the guard added. "That you're just a legend, an antagonist invented to counter the Doctor's role as protagonist."

The Master made a face. "Well, that's slightly insulting..."

"I didn't say I thought that," the guard shrugged. "It's just what some people say."

"So I'm what... Some mythical anti-Doctor?" the Master asked critically. "Or like... A Negaverse Doctor?" He giggled. _Nega-Doctor._

The guard paused thoughtfully. "I'm not familiar with the Negaverse," he said.

The Master laughed. "No, I don't suppose you would be. That's a little outside your area of expertise." 

"I knew someone once who thought that you and the Doctor were the Guardians," the guard added.

"That's silly," the Master said, gazing up at his escort judgmentally. "So the Doctor sent _himself_ to collect the Key To Time?" he asked. "Actually," he realized, "that does sound a bit like his usual nonsense."

The guard was staring down at him now, mouth agape. "The Key To Time is _real_?"

The Master giggled at his shock. People on Gallifrey knew _nothing_. It was delightfully easy to throw them off. "Oh, yes. Though I never got to see it myself."

"Incredible," the guard murmured, clearly stunned.

The Master frowned again, still annoyed. "But I am my own person, you know. These friends of yours, do they think I just disappear at the end of the Doctor's stories?" Another thought struck him, rather belatedly. "And why does _the Doctor_ get to be the protagonist? From my perspective, maybe _he's_ the antagonist." He glared at the guard, who seemed cowed by the Master's ranting tone. "I think your friends are telling the wrong stories," the Master informed him with a death glare.

They had arrived at the grand entrance to Rassilon's chambers. The Master gazed up at the towering black doors and hesitated, though he wasn't sure why.

"Some people also say that you can win the War," the guard said quietly.

The Master turned back to his escort, surprised. Did they really say that?

He appreciated their confidence but... He knew he wouldn't be the one to win.

But that was fine.

He could help.

And it was sure to be quite a show when it finally happened...

He planned to have a front-row seat when that day came.

"Is it true?" the guard asked, a desperate hope in his eyes. "Can we still win?"

The Master took a moment, then nodded thoughtfully. "I think so," he said seriously. "You can go back to your friends and tell them I said so," he winked. "Well. The ones who believe I exist."

The guard looked slightly abashed and opened the doors. 

"Good luck staying alive," the Master said in a friendly tone.

"You too," the guard replied, seemingly unsure how to respond.

The Master waved him off with supreme arrogance. "I don't need luck," he said, mostly to himself.

Luck was for the people who had never learned to stack the odds in their favor. 

For those who were foolish enough to play by other people's rules.

The Master preferred games where he already knew he would win before his opponents even knew they were playing.

He stepped into the darkness of Rassilon's audience chamber and the cold reached forward to embrace him eagerly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, that's a _Darkwing Duck_ reference in the same conversation with _Trial of a Timelord_. You're very welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rassilon seemed pleased when the Master entered this time.

"I trust you've had time to acclimate to your new self?" Rassilon inquired in a civil tone.

"I'm doing ok, yes," the Master confirmed noncommittally. "Although you've certainly dealt me an interesting hand."

Rassilon squinted, momentarily confused by the reference. "I have a task for you," he said then.

"What kind of task?" the Master asked cautiously.

"One which utilizes your unique skill set," Rassilon said. "And one which the Doctor wouldn't approve of." His eyes glittered, snakelike.

The Master regarded the President dubiously, unsure of what he would be getting into... Or what he would be getting out of this bargain. Having President Rassilon owe him a favor would clearly have its advantages... Especially since the Doctor never seemed to bother with that sort of thing.

The Master had always carefully cultivated relationships with those in power.

Giving Rassilon what he wanted would be a good starting point to a solid working alliance.

But he'd need _a lot_ more information before he agreed to embark on some unnamed mission.

This wasn't just any war. It was the Last Great Time War.

Rassilon could be sending him into _anything_.

He had to look out for himself, after all.

"Why do you hesitate?" Rassilon asked, his tone goading. "Do you need to wait for the Doctor's permission?"

The Master straightened up, offended. " _No_ ," he glared. "He's not in charge of me."

"So?" Rassilon smiled.

The Master quickly compiled a list of questions to ask about this unspecified "task". But Rassilon was drumming his fingers, impatient for a response.

_One two three four._

It was distracting... And oddly catchy.

The Master found himself tapping along to the rhythm, his hearts synchronizing to the beat.

The questions faded and everything suddenly became so much simpler.

This was _the President_. And Gallifrey was at War. 

They _must_ win, whatever the cost.

That was why he was here.

To _win_.

The beat went quiet, leaving clarity in its wake.

He didn't need answers or information or promises of reimbursement.

All he needed were orders.

"What did you have in mind?" the Master asked.

And Rassilon smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter ended up so short... I stand by it, though.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm really sorry about this. [facepalm]

Chapter 4

The Master used his key to open the TARDIS door, happy to be home.

He was exhausted but the mission had been a complete success. Though he'd had to improvise a bit there at the end...

Still, Rassilon would be pleased. 

And the Daleks had lost a key strategic position.

In short, the Master was thoroughly satisfied with himself.

The Doctor was pacing around the Console as the Master entered. He ran forward, his expression deeply worried.

"Where were you?" he demanded urgently. He caught sight of the state the Master was in and went down on one knee, reaching forward tentatively to take the Master's arms. "Oh, no... Are you alright?"

The Master glanced down at his blood-soaked clothes and laughed at the mess. "It's not mine," he smirked, drunk on victory.

The Doctor's face fell. "Whose?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't get their names," the Master quipped, examining the multitude of bloodstains on his suit.

The Doctor's arms dropped to his sides and he seemed to age several decades. When he looked the Master in the eye again his expression held such _disappointment_.

It stung like antiseptic on an open wound.

The Master's temper bristled.

The Doctor should be _thanking_ him. Congratulating him.

All of Gallifrey should.

Why was the Doctor _always_ ruining his moments of triumph?

"Don't look at me like that," the Master snapped.

"What did you do?" the Doctor asked hollowly.

"What needed to be done," the Master said with a sneer. "What, you thought we could win the War with hugs and _please and thank you_?" he mocked. The words seemed to have no effect. " _This_ is what I'm here for," the Master reminded him. "To do the things you _won't_."

"What did you _do_?" the Doctor asked again, as if he hadn't even been listening. "Tell me." His gaze traveled back to the Master's crimson-soaked shirt, the red-brown mud caking his boots. "That isn't Dalek blood."

"No," the Master confirmed matter-of-factly. "It isn't. We're not just fighting the Daleks, you know." How could the Doctor still not understand this? No wonder they hadn't won the War yet. "They have allies. And _potential_ allies. Although a few less of those after today," he grinned.

The Doctor's eyes went wide and he stood. For several moments he was frozen in place. Then he reached forward to grab his friend but the Master danced out of the way, laughing.

The Doctor caught his arm. "Stop it, this isn't a game," he said sternly.

The Master grinned at him and reached up to pat the Doctor's cheek with a blood-stained hand. "Not with that attitude."

The Doctor jerked his head away with a flash of disgust. "Why did you do this?" the Doctor asked. "Did someone ask you to do this?"

The Master glowered, not liking the implication that he shouldn't get full credit for his victory.

"It was Rassilon, wasn't it?" the Doctor realized. "He called me away so he could send you off on some despicable assignment. He sent you to kill those people for him."

The Master glared at his friend. "He didn't send me to kill _anyone_. He just told me to take care of the situation. He let _me_ decide how that should be accomplished. He trusts me, Doctor," the Master said pointedly. "To do things _my_ way. Which is more than I can say for you."

The Doctor held him by both his arms and looked him in the eye. "He's using you," the Doctor said earnestly.

"So?" the Master retorted cynically. "Aren't we all?"

The Doctor stared at him sadly and shook his head. "No," he said.

Something pricked at the Master like needles as the Doctor looked at him, so sad and sincere. Something emotional, unexpected, difficult to understand.

He didn't like it.

He shook off the Doctor's grip and backed away. "We're closer to winning the War today. Because of _me_ ," he told the Doctor. "Grow up and learn to live with that."

And he left to go clean himself up.

Once he'd washed all the blood off, he got himself a snack and came back to the Console room. He slumped dramatically down onto the couch but the gesture was wasted, as the Doctor was nowhere in sight. The Master shrugged and lay back, knees in the air.

 _"Cartoons, please,"_ he said to the TARDIS.

She turned on the screen without saying anything.

 _"What, you're not talking to me either?"_ he asked.

She didn't answer and he couldn't make her, so he left it there.

It was a while before the Doctor showed up. He walked back in from outside, surprising the Master, who hadn't realized he'd left. 

"Where were _you_?" the Master asked.

The Doctor didn't respond. He just walked wordlessly into the TARDIS corridors without even glancing in his friend's direction.

The Master pulled a face which may have involved sticking out his tongue and went back to his cartoons. No one could sulk quite like the Doctor... But he'd get over it. 

He always did... Eventually.

It was a few hours later that the Master heard the whirring of a motor. A strangely-shaped metal machine rolled into the Console room.

The Master sat up, staring at it in bafflement.

"Greetings," the robot said in an obnoxiously know-it-all voice.

"What the hell is _that_ doing here?" the Master asked no one in particular.

"Language," the Doctor chided, appearing behind the robot. "This is K-9. Say hello, K-9."

"Customary salutations have already been exchanged," the robot said.

"Oh, good," the Doctor smiled. "Well? What do you think?"

The Master had hopped down and was circling the robot suspiciously. He'd seen a couple of these before. This one was unmistakably new. Freshly assembled, the smell of solder still lingering around it. 

He glanced at the Doctor. His friend had that look he got when he'd done something especially stupid and was very happy about it. 

"You made this?" the Master asked. "Just now?"

"Yes," the Doctor grinned. "It's K-9! Well, K-9 Mark V, to be precise."

"You've made _five_ of these?" the Master muttered incredulously, leaning forward to stare at its red eye panel.

He'd had passing interactions with a couple of other models.

The design had hardly changed at all... And was even more ridiculous than he remembered. 

The robot twitched the scanning dishes on its head which looked remarkably like ears. It had an antenna for a tail and text reading _K-9_ on the side in the large, blocky lettering so popular around the time of the Great Breakout.

And it had a _collar_. Which seemed to serve no purpose other than to be a collar.

"A _dog_ , Doctor?" the Master exclaimed disapprovingly. "Why do we need a _robot dog_?"

The Doctor smiled, absurdly moving to pet the robot. Even more absurdly, the robot responded by wagging its tail. "Yes! Isn't he wonderful?"

The Master made a dubious face. _Wonderful_ wasn't the word he had been thinking of.

"Come on," the Doctor said enthusiastically. "Haven't you always wanted a dog?"

"No," the Master said. "That was _you_." The Doctor had always wanted a pet. The Master hadn't ever felt the need himself. His hands had always been full enough with the Doctor. "What's he _for_?"

"This unit has multiple capabilities," the robot answered.

"Hmph," the Master grunted. "Helpful answers clearly not being one of them."

"K-9 is going to keep an eye on you," the Doctor said.

The Master narrowed his eyes and stared at his friend. The Doctor was serious. And there was a crafty look in his eyes which the Master had learned over the centuries not to underestimate.

It seemed there was a new game afoot.

"K-9," the Doctor addressed the robot, "this is the Master. Watch him."

A little sucker antenna extended from the eye panel and the ears whirred back and forth. The Master stood, arms crossed, glaring at his friend as the robot scanned him.

"Biodata assimilated," the robot announced after a minute. "Instructions understood. Monitor juvenile Time Lord self-identifying as 'the Master.'"

"And protect him," the Doctor added, something unreadable in his expression.

"Affirmative," K-9 confirmed with a nod.

"So, this thing is just going to follow me around?" the Master said after a moment.

"Yes," the Doctor replied. "He's very useful, though," he hastened to add.

The Master looked askance at the unwanted gift. "He's _annoying_."

"Oh, give him a chance," the Doctor pouted, "he grows on you."

"We'll see about that," the Master muttered dubiously, examining the machine again. _Useful_ , the Doctor had said. The Master shuddered to think which features the Doctor considered _useful_. "I hope you've made some improvements over the last models," he muttered.

"What?" the Doctor blinked.

The Master shot him a look. "Speed, battery life... Attitude."

The Doctor started forward, looking about as angry as this Doctor ever got under normal circumstances. That is, mildly displeased. "Now, hold on a minute! K-9 is a state-of-the-art, precision device with powerful computing capabilities and -"

"Is it even _armed_?" the Master asked disgustedly, cutting off what promised to be a rambling list of features.

The muzzle of a blaster appeared from the dog's mouth.

"Ooh!" the Master rubbed his hands together and leaned closer. "Ok, now we're talking... K-9, tell me about your weaponry."

K-9's ears whirred. "Photon beam with five levels of intensity," the dog declared proudly, "from simple electric shock to kill. I have also been upgraded with new, Dalek-effective capabilities."

"Nice," the Master grinned.

"It's just for defense," the Doctor said, sounding vaguely worried.

"Proactive defense?" the Master asked sneakily.

"That's called _offense_ ," the Doctor pointed out, brushing one hand over his forehead wearily.

"I know," the Master grinned. "Just checking you were paying attention."

The Doctor gave him a long, sideways look.

The Master glanced around, waiting impatiently for the Doctor to say whatever it was he was thinking. 

" _What_?" he asked eventually.

"Nothing," the Doctor smiled.

The Master eyed him suspiciously. He had the distinct and familiar impression that the Doctor was laughing at him.

"Play nice, you two," the Doctor said. He moved towards the other side of the Console but reached down at the last second to ruffle the Master's perfectly-combed hair.

The Master snarled in frustration and struck out at the Doctor, missing completely, much to the Doctor's obvious amusement.

The Master turned to K-9. "Hey, if I told you to, would you shoot him every time he does that?"

K-9's ears twitched. "Negative," he said.

"Just on the shock setting. Just to teach him a lesson," the Master coaxed. He glared at this smiling friend. "He's clearly never been trained."

"Negative," K-9 repeated. "No instructions received regarding the importance of juvenile Time Lord's hair."

The Doctor laughed aloud.

The Master scrambled to his feet, irate. "Useless," he muttered angrily, stomping off to his room to fix his hair. He threw his arms into the air in an impatient gesture. "Surrounded by useless _idiots_!"

He could hear the Doctor chuckling behind him as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm much less sorry about how this chapter ended.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Every time the Master closed his eyes, he was back in that sea of gold, back in the Heart of the TARDIS.

He couldn't be sure if he really _was_ there or if he was just dreaming of when he had been...

With his connection to the TARDIS, he supposed it was basically just semantics in the end.

_Help._

The cry came through the gold, blocking out the light with a void of fear.

_Please... Stop._

At first, the Master thought it was his own dream.

_Please help..._

But no. It was coming from somewhere else...

Someone else.

_Don't hurt them._

There was only one person that could be.

The Master opened his eyes.

Everything was still, the hum of the TARDIS filling the silence comfortably.

The Master got out of bed, blanket trailing behind him as he made his way to the Doctor's room.

The Doctor was asleep.

He never slept.

The Master was starting to understand why.

He stepped close to the bed, watching his sleeping friend. The Doctor was still, apparently peaceful.

The Master reached out to put a hand gently to his friend's head.

_Inside was horror, pain, screaming and dying and burning and helplessness..._

The Master snatched his hand away in shock.

He frowned. Pain was a constant in the Universe. People avoided pain, caused pain, feared pain, withstood pain. It was the closest thing to a Universal currency that the Master had ever found.

He and the Doctor had both felt many types of pain themselves over the years.

The Master had come to the conclusion that it was simply unavoidable.

If you lived, you would feel pain. It was the price demanded by survival.

But it wasn't a _good_. It wasn't something to be sought out.

And there was plenty of pain to be had without adding _more_.

But the Doctor dreamed of others' pain as if it had happened to _him_. Personally.

Like he wanted to take it on himself.

Why would he do that?

The Master had always been of the opinion that others' pain was their own problem.

Just as his own pain was _his_ problem.

Pain was everywhere. Worrying about it wouldn't change that.

He crawled into bed next to the Doctor. He didn't want to wake him but... This had come up before, a long time ago. 

He wasn't sure if he'd helped back then but he thought he may have.

He took the Doctor's hand and fell into the nightmare with him.

Now it was _red._

Blood red.

The rust-colored grass of Gallifrey was burning, each blade sheathed in vibrant, ravenous flame.

Then blood.

Crimson rivers soaking everything in sight, dousing the flames.

Covering the ground, turning the entire world in a macabre swampland.

And someone somewhere was laughing, as if this was all the funniest thing ever...

Laughing faces covered in blood.

The Master felt a stab of guilt as he realized that this nightmare was entirely his fault.

He forgot sometimes how fragile the Doctor could be.

He gripped the Doctor's hand tighter.

Finally, the Doctor noticed his friend's presence.

"Why?" the Doctor asked. "What did those people ever do to you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" the Master responded evenly.

"They were _alive_ ," the Doctor said. The sadness in those words was more than the entire Universe could hold.

The Master squeezed his friend's hand tighter. "Everything dies, Doctor."

"But do we have to be the ones to cause that?" the Doctor pleaded.

The Master wished he could lie, or better yet, change reality itself. But the Doctor deserved the truth. "Sometimes," he said.

"But _why_?" the Doctor said. Such a big question. "Why _us_?"

Rivers of blood sank into the sandy field, as if the ground itself was drinking the lives of the lost. It cracked as the moisture vanished, leaving a barren red wasteland. Thirsty. Insatiable. Waiting for every life that had ever been or ever could be. Drinking it all until there was nothing left.

"Tell you what," the Master said, leaning into his friend, "I'll make sure it doesn't have to be you. When I can."

He was stronger than the Doctor when it came to this. Maybe he could help.

The Doctor shook his head. "That's not what I'm asking."

"I didn't think you were asking for anything," the Master answered. It had simply been an offer.

And he wasn't really open to a refusal.

Death was part of life, part of survival.

A part the Doctor had never accepted.

Raindrops started to fall, crystal-clear, soaking into the blood-drenched earth. Cleansing it. Feeding it. Slaking its thirst.

"Just because you're alright with it doesn't make it any less wrong," the Doctor told his friend.

"I never said it did," the Master responded. He wouldn't have presumed to think his own moral feelings defined _right_ and _wrong_. Reality was so much vaster than those concepts. "I'm just trying to help."

The earth was fertile again and green started to appear.

"If you really want to help, please..." The Doctor knelt in front of his friend in the new growth of the field. "Next time Rassilon asks you to do something like that... Find another way."

The Master looked his friend in the eyes, feeling the sincerity, the desperation, the pain. "I'll try," he promised. 

A part of him regretted it even as he said it.

But not nearly enough to want to take it back.

"Thank you," the Doctor sighed.

They stood together then, watching trees grow, flowers bloom, birds and insects flitting in the breeze.

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

"There isn't always another way, you know," the Master pointed out regretfully.

"I know," the Doctor said sadly, watching the life surrounding them. "But there should be..."

Rassilon _did_ send the Master out on similar missions again, many more times.

Sometimes, he tried to find another way.

Sometimes, K-9 managed to follow and he tried a little harder, knowing the dog could and probably _would_ tell the Doctor everything.

Sometimes, when he didn't find another way, he thought of the Doctor, of how he seemed to feel the pain of the people who suffered around him.

Sometimes the Master could almost imagine what that was like...

No wonder the Doctor worried so much about everyone.

The Master thought that must be exhausting.

Just thinking about _one_ other person added a thousand more steps to every decision he had to make.

It took away so many of his options in one fell swoop.

Things seemed to go better when they went into the War together. The Daleks were fair game and the Doctor could always be counted on to vocalize his displeasure at the Master's tactics when he felt uncomfortable.

It was far easier than trying to guess what the Doctor might or might not be ok with.

But even on the days when things didn't go according to the Doctor's stringent restrictions, the Master never showed up at the TARDIS covered in blood again...

And the Doctor didn't have any more nightmares alone.

And when the Master's nightmares started, he didn't have to face those alone either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys hanging in there?
> 
> I don't know if reading this is as traumatizing as writing it was but... Man, even editing this is making me tear up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty chill. I guess I needed a break. And I've always been partial to the Master's propensity for white collar crime and political machinations.

Chapter 6

"What is your plan?" Rassilon asked.

The Master looked up from the meticulously-crafted cover story he was adding to the Matrix databanks.

It wouldn't do to have the Gallifreyan citizenry know of their more crushing defeats...

This particular coverup had required a touch of extra ingenuity and the Master had been delighted to assist in creating a more palatable truth for the masses.

"Which plan would that be?" the Master asked casually. He had lots of plans at any given time. All of varying levels of complexity and seriousness.

He wasn't about to spill the details on the wrong one.

He had grown too old and cautious for that.

And anyway, it wasn't as if Rassilon wanted to hear which cartoons he was planning to watch when he got home.

"With the Doctor," Rassilon elucidated.

The Master gave him a deadpan stare. "You'll have to be more specific," he said. Plans involving the Doctor? That hardly narrowed it down.

"Why do you tolerate his company?" Rassilon asked outright. His eyes were piercing, curious.

The Master hid a momentary smile of satisfaction. 

Had he really fooled even _Rassilon_?

"I have my reasons," he said. Words conveying no meaning whatsoever. But it was shocking how people would trip over themselves to fill in the blanks. Another thing the Master had learned through long experience.

"I assume you are biding your time but I wonder what you are waiting for," Rassilon proffered.

The Master gave an impish glance over his shoulder. "I'd hate to ruin the surprise," he teased.

"Come now," Rassilon smirked. "Indulge my curiosity. Perhaps I could even help in some way."

The Master paused, realizing he may have intrigued the President a bit _too_ much. "I'll let you know when the time is right," he said smoothly, going back to work. "Making a move too early could ruin everything."

Rassilon sighed but when he spoke, he seemed to have accepted the Master's delaying tactic. "Very well, keep your secrets." The Master could feel the President's eyes on the back of his skull. "But when the time comes, be sure to include me in whatever you are planning. I have my own reasons for wanting to see the Doctor brought to ground."

The Master wanted desperately to ask what those were, to glean information, to hear about ways and means and contingencies...

But this was a dangerous moment.

Ask any questions and he would lose the upper hand.

And if Rassilon wanted a part in _his_ plan... Odds are he didn't have anything definitive himself.

So the Master thought about revenge, about hatred burning cold, about waiting for just the right moment to spring the trap.

About all the things Rassilon expected to see.

All the things he didn't feel when he thought about the Doctor.

He turned to Rassilon, letting him get a good look at what he assumed the Master should be feeling.

"Wait your turn," the Master said darkly. "The Doctor is _mine_."

Rassilon chuckled, low and sinister.

The Master smiled and went back to work, rewriting the truth.

Rassilon wouldn't have understood in a million years. He was prey to the same weakness as the rest of the Universe: he saw only what he wished to see.

He accepted the lie because to him it was more believable than the truth.

Through the lens of his own understanding, there was no other explanation for two "enemies" fighting together, protecting each other.

The Master had always been somewhat confused by everyone's haste to label his rivalry with the Doctor as enmity.

If two teams played against each other in a sports tournament, would you assume the players were enemies once they left the field? Did opponents in a chess match consider themselves nemeses after the game was over?

Perhaps so, perhaps not.

Either way, it had nothing to do with the game.

The Master wasn't _biding his time_. There was no grand plan to destroy the Doctor. And he didn't _tolerate_ the Doctor's company.

They were friends, pure and simple. Fighting on the same side against a common enemy.

It wasn't anything new. They'd done this off and on for centuries. Their current arrangement was just more stable than usual, as befitted the long-term and extraordinary nature of the threat.

But no one would believe that explanation. 

Judging from past experience, the Master doubted anyone would even _understand_ it.

Least of all Rassilon.

The Master already knew plenty about Rassilon's version of friendship.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It had been a bad day. One of the worst the Master had seen.

And that was saying a lot in the Time War.

He'd won, though. 

Well... Sort of.

He'd _lived_.

The Master came back into the TARDIS to find the Doctor and his robot dog waiting for him.

The Doctor didn't look angry. This Doctor almost never looked angry.

Somehow the disappointment was so much worse.

"Again?" the Doctor asked. He was patient, always so patient.

The Master looked at him, too tired to smile, too empty to muster any bravado.

He crawled onto the couch and buried his head in his arms to hide the tears.

"Well, move over," the Doctor said from above him.

Instead, the Master defiantly kicked out with his Wellington-clad feet, trying to take up as much space as possible.

So the Doctor just lifted him and sat with his friend lying on his lap.

The Doctor stroked his hair.

It fixed nothing. But it was still comforting.

"Why do you keep doing this?" the Doctor asked without judgment. "I made K-9 so you wouldn't have to go out there alone."

The Master didn't say anything. How could he explain that he felt the need to do these dark things alone? That if anyone knew, if anyone was there to see, it would make it all so much worse?

That the Doctor knowing would be unbearable.

"I don't want to talk about it," the Master muttered.

He wasn't proud of the things he did for Gallifrey. Which was odd, because he was _always_ proud of the things he chose to do.

But the War which he'd expected to be a playground of destruction, the perfect arena in which to test his intellect, an endless series of contests to win... Had instead become one of the most horrifying and shameful things he'd ever experienced.

Well, that is... In the moments when the Doctor wasn't there.

That's when everything seemed to go wrong.

"Why do you do what he says?" the Doctor asked.

The Master shrugged. He always had his reasons, he just could never quite manage to remember what they had been afterwards.

"He's the President," he said, citing the most logical reason which came to mind. "One of us has to stay on his good side."

"He'll keep pushing you until you break, you know," the Doctor said quietly.

"I know," the Master responded.

He _did_ know.

He thought about it every time Rassilon summoned him.

Still, he never said no.

"Can we talk about something else?" the Master asked.

"Sure," the Doctor agreed. And he talked about silly, meaningless things instead so the Master could try to forget what he'd just seen.

What he'd just been a part of.

In the previous timeline, Messaline had been a lush and beautiful planet. Now rewritten as a blasted, craggy, radioactive wasteland.

And no longer inhabited.

The Doctor's voice almost drowned out the screams echoing in the Master's memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Messaline is the planet from _The Doctor's Daughter_ ; I picked it because the overlap in themes was far too tempting to pass up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this chapter. This is a good one. :)

Chapter 8

The Master pulled another piece of candy out of the bag he'd swiped from the Doctor's pocket.

Somehow, the Doctor's pockets were always stocked with a seemingly-endless supply of jelly babies.

The Master lay on the sofa, turning the yellow sweet over thoughtfully in his fingers.

Some days he liked the Doctor's sweets. Some days he found the uncomplicated sugar flavor cloying.

Today, he found he didn't have a taste for them.

However, they still made _excellent_ projectiles.

He carefully gauged distance and angle and threw the jelly baby. It hit K-9 square in his eye panel and bounced away to join its comrades on the TARDIS floor.

"Say my name," the Master ordered, pulling out another candy, green this time.

"Negative," K-9 responded.

"Say my _name_ ," the Master insisted, throwing the jelly baby. He cackled triumphantly. Another perfect strike.

"Negative," the robot said again.

The Master sighed in annoyance. "Why do you call _him_ master? It's not _fair_."

K-9's ears whirred. "Fairness: immature delusion of universal equality."

Life wasn't fair. The Master understood that. But... 

"It's _my name_ ," the Master cried out indignantly. "I had it _first_!" He threw another handful of candy, just because he was angry. It was a far less successful attack.

"Primacy of claim and continued ownership," K-9 mused. "Conclusion: concepts fail to demonstrate any correlation."

The Master propped himself up on his elbows to glare at the dog. "Finders keepers?" the Master translated. " _That's_ your justification? Really?"

"Justification not required," K-9 said smugly.

The Doctor walked in from the interior corridors. He stopped to survey the multitude of fallen jelly babies scattered across the floor.

"Now, who's going to clean up this mess, hmm?" he asked mildly.

The Master grinned. "K-9," he called. "Clean up!"

"Affirmative!" K-9 agreed. He spun in a tight circle, disintegrating the candies with precision zaps of his blaster.

"What mess?" the Master asked innocently, raising his arms in a gesture that was more smug triumph than shrug.

"Nice trick," the Doctor said appreciatively. "Now, I have to go out for a while and I'm taking K-9 with me. Will you be alright on your own?"

The Master shrugged, contemplating the few jelly babies left in the bag. They still looked unappetizing. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Just stay inside, alright?" the Doctor said seriously. "Don't go anywhere."

The Master waved him off with a superior look and turned back to his television. "You worry too much," he said.

"Hmm," the Doctor said, unconvinced. "Alright, come on, K-9."

"Affirmative, master," the robot said, tail wagging. 

The Master shot the dog a disapproving glance as they both left.

It was barely ten minutes before the knocking started.

_Knock knock knock knock._

The Master sat up, staring at the doors, his hearts sinking.

It was for him. 

He _knew_ it was.

 _'Do not go outside, Little One,'_ the TARDIS said in his mind.

_Knock knock knock knock._

_"But they're calling me,"_ he answered helplessly.

The rhythm bounced around in his brain, making it hard to think.

Reflexively, needing the knocking to stop, he went to open the door.

It was locked.

 _"Let me out,"_ he said to the TARDIS.

 _'Not today, Little One,'_ she declined. _'Stay here, with me.'_

The knocking continued, insistently. He couldn't even tell if it was still coming from the doors or if it had made a home inside his head.

He tried to pry the doors open with brute force, desperate to answer the summons.

_Knock knock knock knock._

Unsuccessful, he slid to the floor, covering his ears, trying to block out the sound.

It wouldn't go away.

There was only one way to make it stop.

 _"I have to go..."_ he said to the TARDIS. _"You don't understand. They won't stop. Not ever."_

_'Trust me, Little One. Today, you must not go.'_

_"But I can't stand it,"_ the Master told her. _"Can you make them go away? Please?"_

_'Come with me until they go. I will keep you safe.'_

The rhythm began to fade to a more tolerable level. The Master opened his eyes. Gold was creeping in at the edges of his vision.

He smiled and leaned against the exterior door. "Sorry," he called to whoever was outside. "Mum says I can't come out and play today." He giggled at his own joke.

He sat back and watched the gold. It was pretty... Little flickering, dancing sparks of pure life that moved every time he blinked. But looking at them made him tired.

_'Come rest, Little One.'_

He could feel the TARDIS pulling him away... Somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

He curled up back on the couch and fell asleep, slipping into the gold.

There was no knocking in the gold...

He woke to a hand on his shoulder and a pair of concerned eyes looking down at him.

He rubbed his eyes sleepily and sat up. "Back already?" he asked the Doctor.

"Already?" the Doctor echoed in confusion. "It's been two days. Are you alright?"

The Master blinked, remembering the gold. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did you stay inside like I told you?" the Doctor asked anxiously.

"Yeah," the Master said. He remembered Rassilon had wanted him, that he had tried to go. He couldn't imagine now why he would have done that. "Why?"

The Doctor sighed in relief. "Something bad happened. I was afraid they might have pulled you into it."

The Master squinted, trying to piece this information together.

 _"You kept me safe?"_ he asked the TARDIS.

_'As I promised, Little One. Whenever I can.'_

The Master had a sneaking suspicion that he would be in trouble with Rassilon later... But right now that seemed like a victory in and of itself.

"I'm fine," the Master assured the Doctor. "I told you, you worry too much."

The Doctor smiled. "Good," he said. He sat down next to his friend. "What are you watching?"

"Uh," the Master said, staring at the empty screen. "I don't know. Whatever's on."

The Doctor leaned back on the couch. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, though he clearly already had.

The Master snuck a glance at his friend, slightly concerned that the Doctor was willingly choosing to stay in one place.

The screen switched on to _The Muppet Show_.

Thoroughly watchable but not the Master's first choice.

The constant stream of Earth celebrities he had never heard of interspersed with literal nonsense made for an odd viewing experience.

Far more the Doctor's cup of tea...

The Master snuck a glance at his friend. The Doctor was staring vacantly at the screen, eyes far away, forehead knit in silent pain.

"Bad?" the Master asked after a few minutes.

The Doctor nodded slowly. "Very bad..."

The Master cuddled closer to his friend. The Doctor put an arm around him and held a little too tight. The Master didn't protest.

"I'm just glad you weren't there," the Doctor said.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"He isn't like us," Rassilon said one day as the Master helped him plan a surgical strike against a Dalek outpost.

"He isn't like _anyone_ ," the Master said wryly, knowing immediately to whom Rassilon was referring. He'd had to pull up a chair to stand on in order to reach the middle of the map. One of the stranger challenges of fighting a Universal War while being under four feet tall.

"You and I," Rassilon continued gravely. "We're the same."

The Master had his own opinions about that... But they weren't in Rassilon's favor so he kept them to himself.

"Surely you must have realized that by now," Rassilon said. "How different you and I are from all the others. How far above their petty concerns we are."

"I realized that a long time ago, yes," the Master laughed, shifting one of the pieces into its optimal position. That was hardly a groundbreaking observation. "Everyone else is taking a while to catch up to that idea," he quipped. "But I'm confident they'll come around eventually."

"Did you never wonder about your own ancestry?" Rassilon asked.

The Master turned to look at the President, eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting we're related?" He shrugged. "It's an interesting idea. Unfortunately, that information was lost in Time long ago."

The historical records of the Old Days of Gallifrey were spotty at best. Having gotten to know Rassilon, the Master now suspected that lack of detail was no accident.

"But our own biological code is _not_ lost," Rassilon pointed out. "I had a comparison made. Biology cannot lie."

The Master smiled slowly. "So... I'm descended from _you_?" 

"The lineage is direct," Rassilon informed him.

The Master thought about that, about the status that gave him among his fellow Time Lords. "Cool," he decided smugly.

That was going to be useful somehow, one of these days.

"The Doctor... Is not," Rassilon said, his tone sour. "He is a mere mongrel. Perhaps this explains his inability to see things for what they are."

The Master snickered at the thought of trying to explain the Doctor via simple genetics. "No, I don't think anything could explain him. He's one of the Universe's great mysteries." He said it sarcastically but he meant every word.

"Your obsession with the Doctor is weighing you down," Rassilon stated seriously. "You could achieve so much more on your own. Your full potential."

He started that strange, heavy drumming again. The Master's attention wandered, the map he was staring at becoming difficult to process. Complicated. Unimportant.

"You don't need him," Rassilon said.

The Master thought about that.

Did he really _need_ the Doctor...?

Perhaps not.

But that had never been the point.

"He needs _me_ though," the Master replied absently.

"If you persist in this futile alliance, you will always follow in his shadow," Rassilon told him. "Is that what you want, to limit yourself to his stunted vision of the future? To be second to the _Doctor_?"

It wouldn't be the first time.

Sometimes he followed the Doctor, sometimes the Doctor followed him.

It wasn't about primacy, about who was in charge, per se.

And often, being the first to run into the unknown was the most dangerous role.

That was what the Doctor did.

Someone needed to follow. To watch his back. To drag him out when he found, too late, that he'd rushed into _too much_ danger, even for him.

Even the Doctor couldn't get out of every situation on his own.

"If I need to," the Master answered. Even those few words were difficult. His own voice sounded far away to himself as he spoke, drowned out by the immediacy of the drumming.

"But you were born to _lead_ , just as I was," Rassilon coaxed, smooth like silk. "Once this War is won, the Universe will be begging for guidance. _Our_ guidance."

"I've had the Universe," the Master smiled distantly, remembering. One of his better ideas, holding the entire Universe to ransom. Who could refuse him then? A wonderful pawn but not much of a trophy. Full of boring, small-minded people, insistently preoccupied with their mundane concerns. Too minuscule to appreciate how tiny they truly were. Owning the Universe had ended up being mostly about maintenance, as it turned out. "It's overrated," he concluded.

"Gallifrey could lead the Universe into a new age," Rassilon said. "You could be a part of that."

The Master frowned. Rassilon wasn't just talking about winning the War, defeating the Daleks. He was talking about _conquest_. Universal conquest.

The Master had a lot of experience with that particular concept.

And he knew from many, many frustrating arguments over the years that the Doctor would never go along with that plan...

This information took an indefinite amount of time for the Master to consider. His thoughts progressed at an unfamiliar pace, punctuated by the drumming. Held back. Regimented. Marching in time to the beat.

But if he knew anything, he knew this: the Doctor wouldn't like that.

At _all_.

The Doctor fought not because he wanted to but because he _must_. A War against the Daleks, with all of Time and Space hanging in the balance.

Turn that into a bid for power and the Doctor would vanish in the blink of an eye.

"You'll never win without the Doctor," the Master asserted. He knew he'd said it aloud but he could scarcely hear his own voice now over the noise in his head.

"He's your friend, I understand," Rassilon said, and his voice came through so clearly still. "I had a friend like that once. He tried to take what should have been mine... So I took it _back_."

The unintentional irony of Rassilon drawing comparisons between the Doctor and Omega was too absurd and the Master started laughing... Hard.

The drumming stopped.

"You don't know the Doctor at all, do you?" the Master said to Rassilon, grinning at the poor comparison. 

Rassilon had known them both. How could he _possibly_ consider them similar?

They couldn't be less alike. At least from the Master's experience.

The President was staring at him, brow furrowed, expression somewhere between anger and bewilderment.

The Master looked down at the object in his hand. For a moment, he felt that it was a game piece, that he and the President were playing chess with the Universe. But he couldn't discern if he held a pawn or a king. 

"What were we talking about again?" the Master asked, realizing he'd lost the thread somewhere.

"The future," Rassilon said.

"Right, that," the Master nodded, businesslike.

A future which may or may not exist, depending on how the War went.

The Master looked again at the marker he was holding, realizing it wasn't a chess piece at all.

This wasn't a game and no one here was playing.

He set the marker down on the map, indicating the spot where an entire troop of soldiers would be sent to die so that others could gain entry to the Dalek base.

He felt a brief twinge of discomfort, thinking of the resources they'd lose in the process. Gallifrey hardly had an unlimited number of soldiers.

But War demanded sacrifice.

And, in the end, failing to utilize an available resource was far more of a waste.

Everyone had their part to play, after all. 

Some to give the orders, the rest simply to obey.

It was unfortunate for those who found themselves in the latter category, certainly. 

But it was all for the greater good.

Not everyone could lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... For those of you who are currently up-to-date with the New Series, this reads a lot heavier with that in mind. I knew the issues I was addressing here, and I stand by it; I wrote this last year and haven't changed a word. But Rassilon's words are a lot uglier with the specifics in mind.
> 
> And another reference to Omega... We don't have a lot on him and Rassilon, but there's plenty of reason to believe that Rassilon betrayed Omega in order to rule Gallifrey. I like the echoes of duality, so this kept coming up.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per the most recent series, the Master can create perception filters unaided. Is anyone surprised? I wasn't, but I really like that it's Canon now.

Chapter 10 

The drumbeats rose like the tide as the Master stared out into the dark, watching the flames, listening to the sounds of battle growing closer.

He turned back to the Doctor who was frantically wiring something insane together.

"Doctor, you'd better hurry," he said.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" the Doctor responded, picking up three components in rapid succession before choosing a fourth.

The Master hopped down from the crate he had pushed up against the window. "We'll hold them off," he informed his friend. "Come on, K-9."

"Affirmative," K-9 replied.

The Doctor just waved distractedly and grunted at the interruption.

Once outside, he and K-9 split up, the Master focusing on being unseen.

Not many Time Lords could create their own perception filters unaided.

The Master had never understood why more people didn't try to learn.

It really wasn't that difficult. It was just a matter of letting people see what they expected to see... And then making certain that wasn't _you_.

He hid, darting through the shadows of the dancing flames, picking off the forerunners of the invasion one by one before they even had a chance to react.

It was fun.

But slightly too easy...

He stepped out of the darkness right in front of an isolated Hath soldier, just to see the look on its face before he killed it.

"Hi," the Master smiled, gun raised.

The Hath took its last moment to bubble in surprise before the Master used his weapon to shrink the amphibious humanoid down to the size of a toy, crushing its tissues to an impossible density. 

Death by compression.

Neat. Efficient. Unique. 

And _very_ cool.

The Master took just a few milliseconds to appreciate his own handiwork before melting away again into the background.

He hid against the half-demolished wall which had probably been a house not long ago, sharp blue eyes searching for more enemies.

K-9 rolled up next to him in the rubble. 

Perception filters didn't work on mindless robots. Which, like everything else about the Doctor's dog, was slightly annoying.

"Report," K-9 said loudly.

"Shh!" the Master hissed. K-9 _did_ have a volume control... Which he seldom chose to utilize. "You'll give away our position. Come on, seriously. That's just _basic_."

"Report," K-9 restarted, unphased. "Enemy combatants successfully pushed back to a minimum radius of 1.3 miles."

"Oh," the Master squinted, now speaking at a normal volume. "You sure?"

K-9 spun his ears back and forth, scanning. "Affirmative."

"Ok, then," the Master said, dropping his perception filter. "Good job," he smiled to his partner. "They didn't stand a chance," he chuckled.

"Affirmative," K-9 agreed smugly. "Odds calculated as overwhelmingly in our favor."

"As usual," the Master winked, one hand resting possessively on the robot's head.

K-9 wagged his wire tail. "Suggest we rejoin the Doctor-master," K-9 said.

The Master rolled his eyes as he turned to walk back to check on the Doctor. "It's _weird_ that you call him that," he said for the millionth time. "It makes it sound like we're the same person. We're not the same person. You know we're not the same person, right?"

"Negative," K-9 disagreed. "Name: Doctor. Designation: master."

The Master wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Why can't you just say, _the Doctor_?" he asked with a wide gesture. " _Doctor_ ," he explained, pointing towards their destination. " _Master_ ," he said, pointing to himself. "It's not that hard."

They argued until the Master got tired of losing and kicked K-9's metal body with his steel-toed boot, enjoying the resulting loud clang. A symbolic victory, perhaps, as it didn't cause any real damage. But still better than nothing.

"How's it going?" the Master asked as they reentered the building.

The Doctor was standing back from his device. It looked far from complete... Though with the Doctor it could be very hard to tell for sure.

"Why _this_ planet?" the Doctor asked with a frown.

The Master blinked, nonplussed. "How should I know?"

The Doctor gave him a weird look. "You set the coordinates."

"Did I?" the Master asked, thinking back. It seemed like a long time ago.

"Who gave you this location?" the Doctor asked suspiciously.

The Master immediately knew the answer to that question. "Rassilon," he said.

The Doctor nodded, suspicions confirmed. "He wants something here. Did he say anything else, anything about _why_?"

The Master thought hard, trying to place any useful details. "I don't think so..." he frowned. He was having trouble recalling specifics.

Which was... Unusual for him.

The Doctor and K-9 were discussing scanning, power sources.

The Master moved to the window, trying to focus.

He watched the flames outside, listening to his heartbeats. He could hear Rassilon's voice just beneath them.

He could nearly make out the words...

Just out of reach...

"It's a weapon," the Doctor's voice cut through the haze.

"What?" the Master blinked.

"This entire planet. It's a weapon," the Doctor said grimly. "That's why he sent us here."

The Master shook his head, responding to the uncertainty in his friend's gaze. "I didn't know," he said sincerely.

The Doctor nodded, accepting this. "We can't let him have it. We can't let anyone have it."

"But..." the Master said carefully, "If it would help to win the War..."

"No," the Doctor said emphatically. "It won't. Kill a few Daleks along with countless billions of innocent lives?" He shook his head with finality. "That isn't winning."

The Master took a deep breath. He couldn't quite agree but the Doctor made the rules when it came to means and ends. Not because he was in charge or because he knew best...

Simply because no victory was worth the Doctor not being the Doctor anymore.

"Ok then," the Master agreed, writing off yet another opportunity for Universal domination. "So how do we disable it?"

The Doctor started talking, thinking aloud, running through options. Trying to work out a way to defuse the weapon without killing everyone on the entire planet in the process.

The sound of the Doctor's voice faded away under the rising drumbeats.

The Master watched from a distance as the Doctor pulled up specs on the weapon. Power levels, location, controls...

The Doctor had his back turned to his friend. The Master found his gaze drawn to a brick on the floor, debris from the War outside.

Then it was in his hand.

The Master stared at it in silent alarm.

The drums filled his head, trying to drown him out.

He _needed_ that weapon...

Not for himself.

For _Rassilon_.

 _"Whatever the cost,"_ the President had said.

So that was the choice then: the weapon or the Doctor.

There was no question.

But the compulsion was strong.

"K-9," the Master called, scarcely above a whisper. It was difficult.

But K-9 heard immediately and rolled close.

"K-9," the Master said calmly, eyes glued to the Doctor as he decoded the weapon's systems. "I need you to shoot me."

"Negative," K-9 said flatly. "Orders to protect."

"Just stun," the Master clarified. "It's for the Doctor. You need to protect him too, right?"

"Affirmative," K-9 confirmed. "Query: has the juvenile Time Lord been compromised?"

"Yeah," the Master muttered, teeth gritted in effort. "Hurry up, ok?"

He raised the rock against his own will and K-9's stun ray hit him hard.

_The Master was sitting in Rassilon's chambers. They were having a very interesting conversation._

_At least, it seemed very interesting, even though the Master wasn't quite sure what they were discussing._

_He wasn't worried about that._

_He wasn't worried about anything, actually._

_His mind was pleasantly blank, the beating of his hearts rocking him like a boat on the ocean waves. The rhythm enveloped him in the peace of servitude, of knowing all decisions were already made for him._

_"Tell me about the Doctor," Rassilon said._

_The Master smiled dreamily, listening to his hearts reverberating through his chest like bass drumbeats. Powerful, unstoppable, familiar. "What would you like to know?" he asked._

_"What does he want?" Rassilon inquired._

_"Who knows?" the Master replied. It was something he had frequently wondered himself over the centuries. "Sometimes I think he just wants everyone in the Universe to be happy," he added. It was almost too ridiculous to be true. But then, that was the Doctor for you._

_"He must have a weakness..." Rassilon mused. "Everyone does. What is the Doctor's?"_

_The Master paused, wide-eyed, unsure of where to begin._

_The Doctor had so many weaknesses: curiosity, idealism, a fixation on childish morality, a total inability to blend in, a woefully short attention span, an insistence on doing things in the most difficult way possible..._

_"Well?" Rassilon's voice pulled him back from what could have been an entire novel, given enough time. "Answer."_

_"There are too many," the Master laughed helplessly. "I can't keep track." His thoughts kept running away from him, too complicated for the repetitive four-beat which continually erased them._

_"One, then," Rassilon instructed. "Choose one. What is the Doctor's greatest weakness?"_

_The Master sighed, thinking of all the mistakes the Doctor had ever made._

_All the ones he came up with had one thing in common._

_"Me," the Master responded._

_It was a simplistic answer, certainly._

_But Rassilon had said to choose one only._

_He couldn't explain, the details far too involved for him to communicate in his current daze._

_But he had thought it through._

_Everyone assumed they were enemies. Everyone always told the Doctor that they_ _should_ _be, as far back as the Master could recall._

_Even when they were children._

_"Trouble," they had said he was. "Not good company for you to be keeping."_

_And others had said the same thing to him as well... About the Doctor._

_Unanimously, people who never agreed on anything in their lives had banded together in their dislike of the Doctor and the Master's friendship._

_As if it offended them somehow. Or perhaps frightened them._

_But still, stubbornly, foolishly, inexplicably, the Doctor stuck by the friend he had chosen._

_Through the centuries, through the disasters, despite all voices urging the contrary._

_Protecting him when people urged punishment. Defending him when others saw the worst. Arguing with him when no one else would dare._

_Visiting him in prison. Accepting his help when things had gone too far. Treating him as a friend even when their agendas clashed completely._

_It made no sense._

_It was illogical and self-destructive._

_Continually risking his life, trusting the person who had nearly killed him so many times._

_It was a lot to live up to, having a friend like that._

_"Your egotism is astounding," Rassilon said in wonderment._

_"Mm," the Master agreed with an unconcerned shrug. He'd heard that said before._

_"Well," Rassilon said, "if you are his weakness, then I suppose I am in a perfect position to utilize that."_

_The Master frowned, the pleasant haziness troubled by an instinct. "How?"_

_"I'll be sure to let you know when the time comes," Rassilon responded._

The Master woke on the dirt floor.

His head hurt and he tried to rub it with a groan, before realizing his hands and feet were tied.

"Hello," the Doctor said, moving into view. "K-9 seems to think you posed a threat to me. Now, how do you suppose he came to that conclusion?"

"Probably cause I told him," the Master grumbled.

"What were you going to do?" the Doctor asked curiously.

"Knock you out and take control of the weapon... I think," the Master said, frowning. It wasn't quite clear now, though he wouldn't expect it to be.

"Hmm. That does sound very like you," the Doctor said with a touch of humor.

"Ha ha," the Master said dryly. "Would you mind untying me now?"

"You still want to knock me over the head with something heavy?" the Doctor asked.

The Master considered this. "Did you disable the weapon?" the Master asked, glancing at the display.

"Yes," the Doctor said. "I sent the weapon into the Void. Or at least enough of its vital parts that it won't ever cause harm to anyone. This planet is now just a planet again."

"Then no," the Master replied honestly. "No more than usual, anyway," he added with a smirk.

"Hmm," the Doctor said, staring at him intently. "Is that an urge you get often?"

The Master rolled his eyes. "No, I was _joking_."

The Doctor kept staring.

"Come on, Doctor," the Master said impatiently, "it was clearly something to do with the weapon. Probably a defensive system triggered when you started trying to shut it down or something." He almost believed it as he said it. 

It did make perfect sense, really. 

"Perhaps." The Doctor still seemed slightly unconvinced.

"So?" the Master asked.

The Doctor gave him one more look and shrugged. "Well. You certainly seem like you." He moved closer and put out both hands towards the Master's face. "May I?" he asked.

The Master breathed a put-upon sigh. "If you must..."

The Doctor psychically connected to his friend, checking his surface motivations, looking for any hidden compulsion to murder his friends.

Finding nothing alarming, he broke the connection. 

"Satisfied?" the Master asked.

The Doctor nodded, untying his friend's hands. "You seem to have returned to your normal level of murderous deviousness, yes," the Doctor replied.

"Oh, Doctor," the Master laughed, sitting up to untie his own feet. "You make that sound like such a _bad_ thing."

"Hmph," the Doctor said with a mildly rueful expression. "We're going to need to run now, by the way."

The Master noticed how close the sounds of gunfire were. "That seems like a good idea, yes."

"K-9!" the Doctor called.

The robot rolled in backwards, blaster firing. "Master?"

"Hold them off as long as you can, we'll meet you at the TARDIS," the Doctor instructed.

"Affirmative!" the robot acknowledged.

The Master started to follow the Doctor out the back door, then ran back to kneel down by the dog.

"Thanks, K-9," he whispered.

"Gratitude unnecessary," K-9 responded.

"Come on!" the Doctor waved urgently. "What are you waiting for?"

The Master looked up with a cheeky grin. "I was giving you a head start," he said. "Which you just wasted." He sprinted past the Doctor in the direction of the TARDIS.

Everyone made it back safely and everything continued as normal.

Just another day in the Time War.

The Master didn't think too much about the lost planetary weapon. 

But the first chance he got, while the Doctor was distracted, the Master found himself sneaking out of the TARDIS, drawn inexorably towards the President's chambers.

The guards just nodded and let him in. 

Was he really here so often...?

But there wasn't time to wonder about that as the doors slammed shut behind him. Rassilon looked angry, his eyes burning colder than usual.

"You failed me," he growled.

"I suppose I did," the Master admitted. Memories slotted back into place. He knew he had been sent to retrieve a superweapon and had instead sat by as it was destroyed.

"Were your instructions not clear?" the President asked dangerously.

The Master considered, recalling the words embedded deep in his subconscious. "No, you were perfectly clear."

"Then what happened?" Rassilon hissed.

The Master thought back to the choice he had made. "The Doctor," he answered. Anyone else wouldn't have figured out Rassilon's agenda. Anyone else would have been nothing in light of the President's commands. "I told you, he's unpredictable," the Master reminded him. "You shouldn't keep underestimating him."

"Keeping the Doctor in line is what you are here for," Rassilon responded. "If you are not up for that task, I shall have to find other methods of controlling him."

"Good luck," the Master muttered.

"Insolence!" the President shouted.

His voice reverberated around the stone chamber and the Master covered his ears in pain.

Rassilon smiled sadistically. "Perhaps you require a reminder of who is truly master here."

He stepped down from his throne. The Master wanted to run but knew he couldn't. So he stood, staring Rassilon right in the eye, trying to hide his fear.

"You seem obstinate in your refusal to learn your place," Rassilon said.

"Yeah," the Master agreed. "I guess I do."

"Then you must accept the pain that comes with your choice," Rassilon pointed out.

"Yeah, I figured," the Master said, bracing himself. 

Rassilon lowered his gauntlet-clad hand to rest heavily on the Master's head. 

And the pain was worse than he ever could have imagined.

He was burning alive, being torn apart. 

He was pretty sure he must be screaming but the drums were all he could hear.

The agony filled every cell of his body until he could scarcely even remember his own name...

But then, under the cacophony was a voice.

Small and quiet. 

Not Rassilon's voice.

It was saying he'd done well, that it was proud of him...

He clung to that voice.

It was an eternity before the pain stopped.

The Master found himself curled up on the floor, weak and whimpering.

"You are my creature," Rassilon said from his throne. "I made you and I can unmake you. Remember that."

The Master couldn't speak, couldn't even nod.

"Leave us," Rassilon commanded.

And though every muscle ached, though he was shaking so violently he could barely stand, he dragged himself to his feet and managed to make it outside.

He collapsed against the wall as soon as he rounded the corner.

He knew he couldn't let the Doctor see him like this.

He found a place to hide, making himself as small as possible.

After a while, he felt better and forgot why he was hiding.

So he went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry, everyone! [crying] :''( It still gets worse than this. I hate Rassilon so much.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The guards dragged their prisoner across the room and threw him in a heap at the Master's feet.

"Kill him," Rassilon commanded.

The Master looked down at the man dragging himself up on his elbows. Disheveled, wounded and covered in dirt. He'd clearly been tortured.

The Master had no problem with killing, when necessary. Or even when convenient.

But this...

This wasn't his style at all.

The Master frowned as the quiet voice in his head spoke up.

It came more often these days as Rassilon required his services more frequently.

People on Earth talked about _conscience_ , like it was a real, separate voice guiding their actions.

It had always sounded like fantasy to the Master. Or insanity.

But it seemed his mind had chosen the Time War as the appropriate time to develop its own voice of conscience.

He wasn't even surprised that it sounded exactly like the Doctor.

It was always asking the same question.

"Why?" the Master said.

Rassilon glowered, displeased. "He is a traitor," he said. "A deserter."

"I'm not your executioner," the Master glared, throwing the gun away and crossing his arms. "Get someone else to do it. Better yet, do it _yourself_."

Rassilon stared back at him and the Master gritted his teeth, refusing to be the first to blink.

But his heartbeats pounded in his head over and over until the pain was too much and he fell, face in his hands.

"I am your _President_ ," Rassilon boomed. "And that is an _order_."

The Master sighed in defeat. He pulled himself to his feet and retrieved the gun. Because it seemed he had no choice.

He pointed the weapon at his helpless prisoner. 

"Leave," he said to Rassilon.

With a satisfied smile, the President took his guards and left.

The conscience voice had more questions.

There was no harm in questions...

"What's your name?" the Master asked.

The soldier lifted his head. "Aldo," he said.

The Master looked at him down the barrel of his borrowed gun. "I know you. I've seen you around."

The man nodded. "I was stationed here in the Capitol for a while."

The Master was curious about something. "Why did you run? You must have known you wouldn't get away."

He'd had the same thought himself, he realized.

Many, _many_ times...

How had he forgotten that?

"My family," the man said. And the look on his battered face was strangely peaceful. "I needed to get them out."

The Master shook his head. "There _is_ no way out. The entire Universe is at War. Where would you take them?"

"There are planets on the outskirts of Time and Space, inhabited by primitive races. Some of them have barely been touched by the War."

"You must have known the risk you were taking," the Master squinted. Aldo didn't seem like an idiot.

"I had to try," the man replied. "It was worth it."

The Master actually understood that. Some things were worth any risk. Any sacrifice.

"Did it work?" the Master asked quietly. "Your family. Are they safe?"

Aldo gave him a wide-eyed look. "Are you interrogating me?"

The Master frowned, stopping to take inventory of his motives. "I don't think so," he said with a shrug. "He just told me to kill you."

Aldo smiled. "Then I'm going to choose not to answer that, if it's alright with you."

The Master smirked. "Smart man."

He and his prisoner shared a knowing smile.

Then the Master sighed. "I have to kill you now, Aldo."

"I know."

"I'll make it quick."

"I'd appreciate that."

The shot echoed in the empty room.

The Master walked out of Rassilon's chambers, tears filling his eyes. He let the gun fall to the floor with a clatter, its task complete. He turned to the President, fists clenched.

"Why did you make me do that?" he hissed.

"So you'd see the price of desertion," Rassilon informed him coldly. "Gallifrey doesn't tolerate traitors."

The Master's fingernails bit into his palms, the pain in his hands nothing compared to the pain in his head.

He was _angry_. His brain was filled with one thought: to take the gun back, to use it to kill Rassilon.

He realized he'd wanted that for a very long time now...

But he couldn't do it.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't even _try_.

"Here," Rassilon said with an evil smirk. "Let me help you."

He took the gun from the floor and pressed it back into the Master's hands.

The Master didn't waste a moment. He raised the weapon, pointing it right between Rassilon's pale eyes.

The guards moved forward in alarm but Rassilon waved them off.

"What do you want?" Rassilon asked, idly curious.

"To kill you," the Master ground out between clenched teeth.

"Well?" Rassilon asked after a few moments. "What are you waiting for?"

The Master growled in frustration. Try as he might, he couldn't tighten his finger on the trigger.

"Perhaps if you had a better target?" Rassilon stepped closer and leaned forward until his face was just inches from the weapon. "There. Now you couldn't possibly miss."

The Master stared at him through hot tears of rage until it dawned on him that he was entirely helpless.

Rassilon watched the Master's anger turn to despair and smiled in satisfaction. 

"Give it to me," he ordered quietly.

The Master did, obeying without question. Knowing he didn't even have a choice.

He watched Rassilon, unblinking as the President handed the gun back to one of the guards.

"I _will_ kill you," the Master vowed calmly. "Whatever you've done to me... I'll find a way out and I'll kill you."

Rassilon smiled. "You'll pardon me for not rescheduling my appointments in the meantime. You are dismissed. I'll call when I want you again." He walked away, leaving the Master frozen in place, unable to follow.

When the rage finally subsided, the Master just had to turn and go home.

By the time he got back to the TARDIS, he wasn't even quite sure what he was so angry about.

He sat down and turned on the television. He noticed blood under his fingernails. His palms were cut and stinging.

He wasn't certain how that had happened. Had the man he'd executed fought back?

He supposed he must have.

The Master went to the medical bay in the TARDIS and patched up his hands.

He didn't want the Doctor to see.

 _'I am sorry, Little One,'_ the TARDIS said.

 _"For what?"_ the Master asked.

_'For what will happen and what is happening now.'_

_"It's just a few scratches,"_ the Master said and he wasn't sure why he couldn't stop crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor boy. :'( It's not getting better anytime soon, people.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I take it back: Some of this chapter was fun to write.

Chapter 12

The Master lay on the devastated rubble of the battlefield, watching the sky burn.

He couldn't feel the heat... Just the cold, sinking into his bones from deep within the earth.

Well, that and the pain.

It was _a lot_ of pain.

He wondered if he might be dying...

It seemed like it could be a _dying_ amount of pain.

The Master took a quick mental catalog of his injuries.

_Concussion, cracked skull, two broken ribs, one punctured lung, five or six shattered bones, multiple burns... Various cuts and wounds but none of them losing blood at an alarming rate, probably thanks to the burns..._

No... He'd survive that list.

Provided someone found him, that is.

It seemed unlikely that he'd get far on his own in his current state.

Too bad he'd come here alone...

Had he even told anyone where he was going?

He seemed to recall that he _hadn't_.

In hindsight, that seemed extraordinarily stupid.

He lay still, awash in the pain, watching the flames licking gleefully at their prey.

It wasn't the sky, he realized. It was a tower. High and, until about an hour ago, a proud and glorious piece of architecture.

Now well on its way to its final destiny as a smoldering ruin.

The Master watched as the roof, hundreds of feet above him, collapsed in on itself with a roar of triumph.

He had a vague suspicion that he may have been blown out of that tower by an explosion.

An explosion he had caused.

He smiled, a cut on his lip signalling its protest.

He'd survived.

His target certainly had not.

So... Mission accomplished.

And if the entire planet had been plunged into civil war as a result of the now-destabilized government... Well, as Rassilon had pointed out, that wasn't really his concern, was it?

Sometimes it seemed strange to him how often the President sent him out to worlds which the Daleks had never even touched.

But then that doubt would vanish like smoke and he'd remember again just how big the War truly was. How complex the factors were which could lead to Gallifrey winning or losing. How far the High Council had to foresee in order to stay ahead of their enemies.

Normally, this was something the Master would have understood. Thinking ahead was something he had always been good at. But Rassilon made his War plans seem far outside the Master's range of comprehension.

And, oddly, the Master always ended up believing this.

Rassilon was the President, the strategist, the leader.

The Master found that by comparison, he was simply a soldier. 

Or, on days such as this, an assassin.

Whatever Rassilon needed him to be.

Defined by the tasks he was given.

Quite literally born to follow orders.

The Master suddenly found himself resenting this. His mind grappled with the disconnect. 

Since when had _he_ , the Master, been one to obey? Without question, without agenda, without information?

Why had he even hunted down and killed the Empress in her tower?

For Rassilon. 

Because Rassilon had told him to.

But _why_?

What did Rassilon get out of this?

What agenda was the Master truly serving?

His hearts pounded in his broken head. It hurt to think so he stopped and deliberately sank into a half-waking state, dulling the pain and conserving energy.

His hearts slowed and his mind drifted back to recent memories.

_"This is your target," Rassilon said, showing him an image of a young woman._

_The Master committed the face to memory. "Who is she?" he asked._

_"The Empress of the Grand Pagoda on Cinethon," Rassilon replied._

_"And what significance does she have to the War?" the Master asked._

_"None that need concern you," Rassilon responded curtly._

_"It absolutely does concern me," the Master started to say. He always did research when taking on an assignment. Preparation was everything, often the difference between success or failure. Life or death._

_There was just an instant when he realized that he tended to go into the situations Rassilon assigned to him completely unprepared..._

_But then the protest died on his tongue and the thoughts faded from his brain._

_Because Rassilon was drumming that addictive four-beat which spoke to something deep down in the very base of the Master's cell structure._

_"You have your orders," Rassilon reminded him. "Soldiers do not require explanations. Soldiers do not ask questions."_

_And the Master realized he already had all the information he needed._

Then he was somewhere else, his brain skipping to another memory.

_He sat on the edge of the couch, feet dangling, trainers kicking at a restless pace._

_A beat echoed in his head, loud and insistent._

One two three four...

 _He tapped along to it._ _He couldn't sit still._

_He shouldn't be here in the TARDIS._

_He should be out there... Fighting._

_"We should go," he said to the Doctor, jumping down to the floor._

_"What?" the Doctor responded in surprise, poking his head out from under the Console. "I thought you wanted to stay home today?"_

_The Master paced in a small circle, agitated. "I was wrong, we should be out there. The War isn't going to end any sooner with us sitting in here watching television."_

_The Doctor frowned at him. "It can wait a few hours. We both agreed on that. And the TARDIS needs maintenance," he added, gesturing towards the Console._

_The Master put his hands to his head in frustration. The Doctor always argued... Always, always. It was annoying. As annoying as the noise filling his head._

_"Well, I changed my mind," the Master snapped. "Is that a problem? Is that not allowed?"_

_The Doctor peered at him, responding to his friend's caustic tone with deliberate patience. "What's going on with you? Are you feeling alright?" He peered at the Master. "Do you need a nap?"_

_The Master stomped his foot angrily. "No, I don't need a nap!" He kind of did, really... But that was beside the point and he wasn't about to let the Doctor change the subject. He gestured impatiently at the exterior doors. "I need to be out there, doing what we're supposed to be doing! Killing Daleks! Winning the War."_

_"Well," the Doctor relented, wiping his hands on his trousers and climbing to his feet, "if that's what you want. Daleks it is, then."_

_The Master sighed in relief as the Doctor started up the TARDIS engines. The beat subsided. He caught the Doctor watching him._

_"What?" he asked._

_"You sure you're alright? You seem..."_

_"Go on," the Master said, eyes hooded in warning._

_"Out of sorts," the Doctor finished diplomatically._

_The Master thought about this. He had been in a bad mood a moment ago. He wasn't certain why._

_It didn't matter._

_He waved it off. "I can only take so much time cooped up in here with you, that's all," he told the Doctor._

Maybe it was the head injury, maybe it was remembering these scenes with some distance but... The Master realized with a sickening certainty that they made no sense.

That what he had said and done made no sense.

And with that realization, the beat started up again, drowning out everything, trying to force him back into line.

This time, he fought, leaning into the pain. Fighting through the drums like he was wading out to sea in a storm.

His hearts raced to keep up until, with a sharp stab, the four-beat turned into a two-beat.

And the Master fell again.

_And then he was looking at Rassilon across a pile of dead bodies. Gallifreyan, judging by the robes._

_He didn't know who they were._

_He didn't know why he had killed them._

_Not that he cared._

_They wouldn't be the first Gallifreyans he had ever killed._

_He'd never been particularly fond of his home world, his own people seeming as alien to him as the rest of the Universe._

_So..._ _Why_ _was he fighting for them?_

_But no... This clearly wasn't for Gallifrey._

_Why was he fighting for_ _Rassilon_ _?_

_"What did you do to me?" the Master asked, fiery blue eyes rising to meet green ones._

_"I found a way to make use of you," Rassilon informed him with quiet satisfaction. "For the greater good. No small feat, as I'm sure you're aware. All those centuries wasted while you could have been serving the Time Lords. I was the first to find a way to harness your potential."_

_"You think I'm yours to command?" the Master hissed. "A weapon for you to wield?"_

_Rassilon's gaze traveled to the bodies, lingering there with a paradoxical pleasure. "I would say my results are proof enough."_

_"No," the Master growled. "Because now I_ _know_ _. Now I can fight you."_

_But there was a beat in his head even as he said this._

_It_ _hurt_ _._

_His vision started to blur as the noise quickly became unbearable._

_"I think not," Rassilon's voice came calmly through the haze of pain. "Because, you see, we have done this before, you and I. Many times." He smiled. "In a few more heartbeats, you won't even remember this conversation."_

_The Master's eyes widened as he realized this rang true._

_How many times had he figured this out?_

_How many times had Rassilon thwarted him?_

_"Who would have ever thought you would fight so hard?" Rassilon mused. He shook his head. "Why do you do this? You only cause yourself pain by refusing to surrender. It will break you." There was no kindness in his words. "They all break in the end, one way or another. You will break like the rest."_

_"Never," the Master glared through the agony, hate giving him strength. "I'll never stop fighting."_

_Rassilon leaned down close, twisted in the Master's distorted vision. "But I will always win."_

_"I'll find a way," the Master tried to say but he choked on the words._

_He wanted to point out that one day, Rassilon would make a mistake. And on that day, whatever the Master knew, whatever he remembered, whatever they tried to do to stop him, whatever the odds... He would seize his chance._

_And on that day, Rassilon would regret his complacency._

_No one_ _controlled the Master._

_Not because of his power. That was merely insurance._

_Because the Master_ _fought_ _._

_It was who he was._

_He didn't dance to another's tune. He lived according to his own rules, allying with others as suited his own needs, his own plans._

_And most of all, he didn't stop..._

_He never, ever stopped._

_"I am the Master," he gasped out with the last of his strength. "I'll never give up. I'll never give in."_

_And then there was only blackness._

The Master found himself back in the familiar bland atmosphere of Gallifrey.

Stagnant.

As if even the air here never moved.

Two hands closed around his. He didn't even need to look to know who it was.

"Doctor," he smiled.

"Hello again," the Doctor said, and his voice sounded gruff, as if he'd been shouting. Or was fighting back tears. Possibly both. "Welcome back. They weren't sure for a minute if you would pull through."

The Master sighed, trying to piece together what had happened.

"No," the Doctor said, sensing his struggle. "Don't worry. You're not going to be able to fight again for a while."

"What happened?" the Master asked.

"You did something incredibly stupid and blew yourself up," the Doctor said, irritation creeping into his tone.

The Master pouted. "I'm not stupid." His voice was dry and gravelly. The Master remembered smoke and fire and a punctured lung and wondered which of those was responsible.

"Well, you could have fooled me," the Doctor snapped. Then he sighed, his tone becoming gentler. "You really need to be more careful."

With an effort, the Master shifted his head slightly to look at his friend. Definitely tears. The Master tried to smile reassuringly but suspected his attempt hadn't been a total success.

"No one knew where you were," the Doctor said, averting his gaze as if that would hide the pain on his face. "You were half dead when they found you. One of your hearts had stopped completely."

"Come now, Doctor," he said, trying for a confident smirk. "You know I'm indestructible."

"Stop it," the Doctor frowned. "It's not funny. I thought I'd lost you."

"You wish," the Master bantered.

The Doctor's face was entirely serious, however. "I really, really don't," he said. "I don't know what I'd do if you were... Gone."

The Master frowned at his friend, a strange feeling creeping into his consciousness.

"It's hard enough with both of us... I can't do this alone," the Doctor continued. And there was a desperation in his eyes that the Master hadn't seen before.

And that was the moment when the Master realized... When he _knew_.

One day, the Doctor _would_ have to do this alone.

The Master was as certain of this as he had ever been of anything.

His days were numbered and the countdown was running out inexorably.

For a moment, he felt as if he was already dead.

He grabbed the Doctor's hands in both of his own, urgently, earnestly, ignoring the pain triggered by the movement.

"Yes, you can," the Master said, ignoring the Doctor's confusion. "Listen to me, Doctor. If something happens to me... You keep going. You win for _both_ of us."

"Nothing's going to happen to you," the Doctor insisted, something fragile in his eyes as he tried to believe his own lie.

"I mean it, Doctor," the Master said, blinking away the tears. "Don't stop fighting. Not ever. No matter how hopeless it is." The ghost of a memory faded in and out of existence, too ethereal to grasp completely. " _Never_ give up," he exhorted the Doctor. "Never give in."

Slowly, the Doctor nodded. Unhappy. Afraid. Unbowed.

"I'll remember," he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, the end of that was ROUGH. In my mind, this is when 10 was born: this moment of denial, of being unable to cope with what was coming.
> 
> For those of you who didn't catch it... From _Day of the Doctor_ :  
> Clara: You told me the name you chose was a promise. What was the promise?  
> War Doctor: Never give up, never give in.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The ending theme music of his cartoon played and the Master blinked, realizing he'd been staring at the screen without seeing it. He'd missed the entire episode.

 _"Can you rewind?"_ he asked the TARDIS.

 _'Certainly,'_ she replied, obliging immediately.

He had to struggle to pay attention during the familiar opening voiceover.

He'd been drifting a lot lately... As if there was some puzzle he was trying to solve.

One which he couldn't remember.

 _One two three four,_ his heartbeats sang, over and over.

_Never give up._

_One two three four..._

_Never give in..._

And the new voice in his head which seemed to have a problem with every decision he made was seldom quiet these days, chattering its opinions away in the background.

The Master sighed.

 _'What is wrong, Little One?'_ the TARDIS asked.

 _"I don't know,"_ the Master responded curtly. _"If I knew, maybe I could fix it."_

 _'Perhaps,'_ the TARDIS agreed. _'Or perhaps someone else could.'_

It made sense to ask the Doctor for help... 

He realized he had thought of that before. Many times. 

But he shook his head, knowing now that was impossible.

 _"I can't tell him,"_ he said. There were rules, limitations. He was a pawn on a chessboard, only allowed to move as the game dictated.

 _'I know,'_ the TARDIS said. Her voice was comforting, grounding. So different from the rest of the chaos in his head.

 _"What am I supposed to do?"_ he asked helplessly.

He felt sometimes as if he'd been doing this forever. As if he was Sisyphus with the boulder, eternally pushing to the top, only to slip and fall inevitably once again. Tantalus forever stretching to slake his thirst.

He knew he'd made progress.

He knew that progress had been undone.

Still, he kept repeating the same pattern. Stuck in an endless loop of attempt and failure.

Unable to age. Unable to learn from his mistakes. The future holding the same unknowns as the past he had already lived.

A pointless march towards the very place he had just come from.

At times like these, when he was alone, he could feel it so strongly, even if he couldn't remember it...

He felt like _nothing_.

A meaningless repetition.

As if he himself was merely an echo of the drumbeats in his mind.

Caught in the span of a heartbeat, like a specimen under glass. Like a toy, wound up only to perform the same dance, over and over, eternally.

The TARDIS's voice broke into his thoughts again, interrupting his daze.

 _'Keep fighting,'_ she said.

The Master laughed grimly.

 _"As if I have a choice,"_ he answered.

Because he couldn't ever stop, couldn't rest.

His nature fought whether he wanted to or not.

Without him even being aware of _what_ he was fighting.

He was at once the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Contained within a single mind. An unbreakable standoff. A puzzle with no solution. An unending, meaningless war.

A diabolical punishment indeed and he had to applaud whomever had devised it.

Although he wasn't quite sure what he was being punished _for_...

He was certain many people would have opinions about that.

They always did.

Even when he was on their side. Condemning him as a whole regardless of his specific actions. Ignoring the parts which didn't fit their chosen narrative.

Casting him as the antagonist for their own egocentric reasons.

Maybe he wasn't the only one in the Universe who devised enemies to oppose.

The Master thought back. Fighting had used to be _fun_ , once upon a time. It almost seemed like a dream amidst the stakes of the Time War.

But he was fighting _for_ the Universe. For all of Time and Space. For _everyone_. 

The Master shook his head, appalled at the unfairness of his present situation.

Shouldn't they be grateful?

How had his good behavior earned _this_?

He was doing his best, he really was... Whoever had seen fit to cause him so much pain, he was on _their side_.

How was _this_ his reward?

Perhaps this punishment was for something he hadn't even done yet, he decided fatalistically.

He frowned as the ending credits began once again and sighed.

 _"Can you rewind again?"_ he asked the TARDIS.

She did.

_'As many times as you like, Little One.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's watching _Gargoyles (1994)_ , btw.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is one of the most upsetting chapters to me. My poor boys.

Chapter 14

"Let's _leave_ ," the Master said.

He and the Doctor sat together on an empty battlefield, exhausted.

There was nothing else living... 

Not anywhere.

Not anymore.

Just them.

"In a minute," the Doctor sighed wearily. "I just need a moment."

"No," the Master said, shaking his head. "I mean... Let's _not_ go back. Let's just... _Leave_."

The Doctor turned to him, surprised. He was tempted, the Master could see... And for a moment he hoped the Doctor might agree. 

But then his friend just shook his head. "We can't... They'd find us."

The Master crawled closer and took the Doctor's hand, pleading. "We could figure something out though, right? You and me?" Everything went watery and he realized his eyes were full of tears.

The Doctor reached a hand up to his friend's cheek and screwed his face up in genuine regret. "We can't. I can't. I have to stay and finish this."

The Master broke away and sat back, rubbing grimy hands over his tear-stained face. The Doctor pulled him into a tight hug and the Master sobbed into his friend's coat.

It wasn't just the War, the fear and the carnage that somehow hurt more than it had ever used to.

It was the _pointlessness_ of it all. The futility.

The eternity of fighting, stretching away into forever, inescapable.

"I can't do this anymore," the Master whimpered, buried in the safety of his friend's arms. "I can't. I just want it to _end_."

"I'll talk to the High Council," the Doctor promised. "We don't need you out here every day."

The Master shook his head despairingly, knowing the Doctor couldn't understand and that he was powerless to explain. "He'll never let me go..."

"Who, Rassilon?" the Doctor asked.

The Master nodded. He dreaded those summons. 

Those were always bad days...

And it was getting _worse._

He'd walk out into a waking nightmare and come back scarcely knowing where he'd been.

It was as if he was living two different lives, neither fully understanding nor remembering the other. Never seeing the whole picture. Always struggling to understand with less than half the information.

And the chasm grew every time Rassilon called on him.

The President devised ever more complex and horrifying assignments for the Master to accomplish in the name of the War.

The Master knew because he'd return shivering, trying to shake off the self-hatred.

The voice of conscience in his head which had seemed helpful at first now just made everything so much worse...

He lived in constant fear of what the President might ask him to do next.

And of the Doctor discovering what he already _had_ done.

The Doctor would never forgive him for those things.

He couldn't even forgive himself.

He wasn't sure when he had started worrying about self-forgiveness. That was never something which had even crossed his mind before the War.

He was what he was. What was there to forgive?

But now he often found himself preoccupied with a nameless self-blame. Try as he might, he couldn't shake it off.

And every time he went to see Rassilon, it grew.

"He can be overruled," the Doctor pointed out, oblivious to the complexity of the situation. "He wouldn't want to lose both of us. So we do have a certain level of bargaining power." He looked down at his friend and gave him a fond and very gentle punch on his tear-stained cheek. "Come on, you're the one who taught me this."

The Master smiled momentarily, remembering.

Things were always better when the Doctor was here. He felt like _himself_ when the Doctor was here.

But then he recalled something Rassilon had said.

_Traitors... Desertion..._

If the Doctor started threatening to leave the War... What might Rassilon do?

He couldn't lose the Doctor.

And Rassilon would need someone else to do the things the Master was sent out to do...

Would he make _the Doctor_ do those things?

The Master's brain recoiled from the thought.

On top of everything else, he _couldn't_ be responsible for that.

The Master broke free from the Doctor's arms and backed away in horror.

"No," he said. "I was wrong, I shouldn't have said anything."

The Doctor was frowning, deeply worried now. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine." He knew he looked petrified, knew that the Doctor could probably feel his fear.

The Doctor's frown grew darker. "What are you afraid of?" A flash of recognition. "What did he say to you?"

The Doctor couldn't know... And he was seconds from asking the right questions.

And then he'd be in danger.

Danger even worse than out in the War.

The Master ran. He was fast, faster than the Doctor. He got to the TARDIS far ahead of his friend and went straight through the Console room and into the corridors beyond.

 _"Don't let him find me,"_ he begged.

_'As you wish, Little One.'_

He knew she would protect him.

He lost himself deep in the TARDIS interior, the corridors reforming mazelike behind him as he ran. 

It was quiet. Safe.

He liked being alone.

He found an empty cupboard in a seldom-used room and crawled inside.

He sat there in the dark, stewing in his own thoughts and fears. 

He couldn't see a way out, no matter how many times he went over the situation.

He wasn't even sure why he was so desperate to leave.

He just knew that it was urgent.

He could feel that time was running out for him, somehow...

Something approaching. A turning point.

After a few hours, he heard a familiar motor winding its way down the TARDIS corridors.

He rolled his eyes with an annoyed grimace.

"Tracking complete," came K-9's voice. "Juvenile Time Lord located in small storage container. Request you exit immediately."

The Master opened the cupboard doors and crawled out. "You're really much too good at finding me," the Master observed. 

K-9 whirred his ears back and forth. "Affirmative."

"You should be careful," the Master told him, taking a moment to dust off his suit as best he could. "Being too good at something can be dangerous these days."

"Threat noted," K-9 said cheerily. "Disregarded."

"It wasn't a threat," the Master informed him wearily, using the dog's blocky body to help himself to his feet. "It was _advice_."

From one weapon to another.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys... **WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH THIS CHAPTER.**
> 
> This is all Canon compliant, but... Not everyone made it through this War.
> 
> I'm really sorry, I hated writing this and I fully intend to fix it at some point in the future but... You've been warned. :(

Chapter 15

"I have to go," the Master told K-9.

His terror had given him the gift of focus. The eternal drumbeats, the confusion they carried with them... It all faded to the background.

What mattered now was _survival_.

Nothing else.

He'd been in the middle of something horrifying. Something so bad it dwarfed all the other memories of the Time War.

He had to run.

And he had to do it alone.

Because the Doctor still had to win the War.

No one else could...

Even if the Master could drag his friend away, the War would be as good as over without the Doctor.

He couldn't explain, couldn't wait. If he saw the Doctor, he knew he couldn't go through with it.

He'd stay. 

And he'd die.

Pointlessly.

Hopefully, the Doctor would understand one day. After he won the War, after he came to find his friend, once it was safe... They could sort through the aftermath together.

But in the meantime, he had to escape.

And K-9's ability to seek out his biological signal was now a problem.

"Query," K-9 said. "Intended destination requested."

The Master hadn't quite figured out the answer to that question.

There weren't a lot of options which would be even temporarily safe...

One thing at a time.

He shook his head. "I can't tell you. And here's the problem..." He sat down and put a hand on the dog's head. "You can't come with me. And I can't have you tracking me. They could use you to find me."

The Master seldom had an issue being direct when imparting unpleasant news to others. But this time it was surprisingly hard to come right out and say what he meant.

But K-9 filled in the blanks. "Understood," he replied. "Suggest you disable this unit. Permanently."

The Master blinked, surprised. "Really? I thought you'd fight me on that."

K-9 raised his head proudly . "Instructions to follow and protect," he said.

The Master sniffed, touched that his dog was giving him permission to do what he knew he had to. "Thanks, K-9," he said sincerely.

He was finding this far more difficult than he had expected.

"Gratitude noted... Master," K-9 said.

"Aww," the Master said, tearing up. "You called me Master."

"Affirmative," K-9 said. "Designation accepted."

The Master smiled through the tears, petting his dog, remembering all their arguments, all the times they'd spent together.

He'd never realized how attached he'd become to his robot friend.

He hugged the dog around his metal neck.

"I think I'm really going to miss you, K-9," he said quietly.

K-9 considered this, ears rotating back and forth. "Estimation: one hundred percent likelihood," he concluded.

"Yeah," the Master agreed sadly. He got up and stood back, pulling out his TCE. "Good dog, K-9," he said softly.

"Affirmative," K-9 replied confidently.

The Master pointed his weapon and fired, shrinking K-9 down to the size of a toy, destroying his systems beyond even the Doctor's ability to repair.

There was an undeniable finality to it which the voice in his head seemed very upset about somewhere in the background.

It wasn't the only one.

The Master knelt on the floor, tears streaming silently and uncontrollably down his face. He picked up what was left of one of his only true friends in the Universe and set it down carefully on the Console, immediately visible from the outer doors.

It wouldn't do for the Doctor to go looking for their dog. Hope could be so cruel.

He stood there for just a moment. Then he scrubbed the tears away with his jacket sleeve.

Still more to do.

He'd need to access his file, wipe any information Gallifrey had which could help them track him.

And then he'd need a destination. Somewhere he could hide until there wasn't a War for the High Council to send him into anymore.

Until the emergency had passed.

The drums echoed and the loss dragged at his hearts and the voice in his head protested and the sense of a temporal Fixed Point hung over him, huge and threatening as a tidal wave...

But the terror burned through it all. The Master exited the TARDIS, little knowing how unprepared he was for the information he would find there.

How used he had been.

How few choices he had truly been given.

How bad things could still become and how much time it would take to fix.

How much pain could outlive the Time War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... That's it.
> 
> We made it.
> 
> One more chapter, but it's a 12 & Simm tag, because we all need to process this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read my other fics, I had the Master double back on the Doctor's timeline (for various reasons) to spend time with 12. So this scene is set before _Face the Raven_ for the Doctor and after _The Doctor Falls_ for the Master. (For more information, see Floor 507.)

Chapter 16

"Did you know?" the Master asked.

It was many years later and they sat together in the TARDIS, the Doctor at his cluttered workbench, the Master staring at a book without reading it.

"Did I know what?" the Doctor asked in his Scottish accent.

"About Rassilon. About the Drums," the Master said quietly.

He had spent years not asking because he dreaded the answer.

But he had to know...

He heard the deliberate sound of the Doctor placing the components down on his work surface. "No," the Doctor said. "Not until after you left."

The Master swallowed and nodded.

He wanted to believe it.

It was probably true.

"I stopped working with the High Council after I found out," the Doctor added in the silence that followed. "If I had known -"

"I know," the Master cut him off.

He didn't need details, didn't need to hear the Doctor's _what ifs_.

They'd both lived with enough of those after the War.

Really, he'd just needed that one, simple answer. The Doctor had already said everything he needed to hear.

It had been centuries now, but the Master was still trying to piece together a coherent understanding of the War.

The trauma, the fear, the trust, the abuse...

The rationalizations. The lies. The constant merry-go-round of emotions, real and manufactured.

Which parts had been Rassilon's programming? 

Which parts had been the Doctor?

Had _any_ of it been him?

He had decided that some of it _must_ have been... But every time he thought about it, he was never quite sure.

And he really didn't like not being sure.

Which was why he had spent so many years trying _not_ to think about it.

As if being a child and fighting a Time War hadn't been confusing enough, trying to discern which parts had been his own choice added a level of complexity he couldn't manage to untangle, try as he might.

But at least he knew now that the Doctor's friendship had been real.

That he _did_ believe.

Someday he would kill Rassilon for making him doubt that.

And this time he'd make sure it _stuck_.

"Those things he made you do..." the Doctor said uncertainly after several moments.

"What about them?" the Master sighed, regretting opening the door to the Doctor's curiosity by broaching the subject.

The Master heard his friend turn in his chair but didn't look up. "How much of that was you?"

"All of it," the Master said, faking the certainty he never felt. "He'd send me out there but everything beyond that was my choice." He was pretty sure about that... And he'd rather claim too much responsibility than not enough. He didn't like to consider the alternative. "Sorry," he added, knowing this wasn't what the Doctor wanted to hear.

The Doctor's chair creaked as he turned away. He went back to his tinkering. "Just wanted to be sure," he said lightly.

"Yeah," the Master answered with a cynical grimace. "It would be nice to have someone else to blame, wouldn't it?"

The sounds from the Doctor's workbench stopped again. "No," the Doctor said emphatically. "It wouldn't. That would be so much worse."

The Master blinked. That was not the reaction he had expected.

Not the reaction a certain earlier Doctor would have had.

"Suppose so, yeah," the Master agreed with the hint of a smile.

The Master controlled his own fate. He made his own choices, regardless of the consequences. Often _in_ _spite_ of the consequences. Nothing was beyond his reach. All options available to him, the bad decisions and the good ones alike, all his to use or discard as he liked. Others limited themselves out of cowardice or lack of imagination. Defining narrow parameters to fence out the infinite possibilities.

The Master couldn't live like that. His freedom had to be as wide in scope as the entirety of Time and Space itself. Anything less was worthless.

But the rest of the Universe seemed to take issue with this, as if he must submit to the limitations they imposed upon themselves or be punished for living outside of their narrow, artificial guidelines.

As if he offended them just by _existing_.

They rationalized their fear as logical, as _right_.

They were always trying to pin his choices on insanity, on outside influence, on some kind of disease. So they could dismiss him. So they didn't have to see the truth... That they were simply too afraid to try to understand him.

That they might _like_ what they found if they ever tried to see his point of view.

That they looked at him and saw a choice they feared to make, even to consider.

Unwilling to acknowledge that maybe they were a little like him, too...

So they preferred to deny that he had ever _had_ a choice.

And sometimes, once in a while, they tried to make that true...

But he wasn't broken. That was neither the beginning nor the end of his story. He wasn't some mistake, a poorly-made toy which had never done quite what it had been meant to do.

They looked at what he was and they didn't understand. So they tried to force him into a mould which was never meant to hold him.

Thinking he would give in. Thinking the mould would win.

Mostly, it didn't.

Many had tried to break him over the years. Most had failed and paid the price.

Rassilon had succeeded.

The President of Gallifrey taken everything, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The Master glanced at the Doctor out of the corner of his eyes.

Well... Maybe not _nothing_.

Though it had certainly looked that way for a while.

It was nice to hear the Doctor say he'd prefer the Master to make his own choices, even if those were choices he could never agree with.

That had been something the Master had wondered about for a while.

Maybe something the Doctor had wondered about, too.

"Well," the Master qualified after several minutes of silence. "I _think_ all of it." The Doctor paused, listening. "It's... Hard to say. I can't really remember it all," the Master said, barely audible.

He'd hardly even admitted that to himself. Oddly, it was easier saying it to the Doctor.

"Maybe that's for the best," the Doctor said and the Master could hear the frown even before he saw it.

He turned to stare at his friend in disbelief. 

The Doctor was about to lose some very important memories. In a couple hundred years, he would refuse to regenerate at all in response to that loss.

Was he really _advocating_ losing parts of yourself?

After all the pain which that had already caused to him and those around him? All the pain it was about to cause?

"I mean..." the Doctor qualified, apparently seeing the Master's disapproval. "Do you remember the _good_ things?"

The Master thought back to cartoons and feeling safe and candy and an obnoxious robot dog. "Yeah," he said, smiling despite himself.

If the Doctor hadn't been lying to him all that time, hadn't been using him as Rassilon had, hadn't even _known_... If all of that could be taken at face value after all, as the Master had wholeheartedly believed at the time... If all of that had been _real_... Maybe that was enough. 

It was at least a very good start.

"If some of that _wasn't_ you, the bad parts," the Doctor continued, "maybe you don't need to remember that." He turned back to his work. "Sometimes it's better not to know too much." 

The Master chuckled to himself. That was a very Doctor attitude. 

But maybe he was right about that one.

There were times the Doctor had been used, too. Times he hadn't been himself.

Bad times...

The Master had decided long ago that the less the Doctor knew about that, the better.

Maybe there were things neither of them needed to know.

Satisfied, the Master finally went back to _actually_ reading his book.

"I'm sorry I didn't figure it out," the Doctor said then.

"Not your fault," the Master responded. He meant it. Not everything was the Doctor's fault, as much as he might sometimes like it to be.

Because if it was the Doctor's fault, then the Doctor could _fix_ it.

But not even the Doctor could fix everything.

And that was ok.

Sometimes he put too much on himself.

The Doctor needed help, too.

"I would have stopped him, if I'd known," the Doctor said. 

The Master looked over at his friend's earnest gray eyes. 

"I know," he smiled quietly.

He would have loved to have seen that...

He'd pictured it so many times over the years. Always different. Because it was the Doctor and there was no telling how the situation might have played out exactly.

But, oh... It would have been _good_.

"Did he ever..." the Doctor squinted.

"What?" the Master asked.

"I don't know," the Doctor said, running a hand through his hair, "ask you to spy, get information, anything like that?"

The Master laughed. "On _you_ , you mean?"

"Yes, basically," the Doctor shrugged, all awkward angles.

The Master rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Oh, Doctor..." he sighed. "Not everything is about you."

But it was a good question... One the Master didn't have an immediate answer for. He thought back, trying to bring fuzzy memories into focus.

 _Had_ Rassilon ever asked for something like that?

"Just, he didn't like me very much," the Doctor added, clearly unwilling to drop the subject, "so, I just wondered."

The Master thought hard. It _did_ sound familiar. 

It may have come up once or twice.

It certainly did sound like something Rassilon would have done.

It was _absolutely_ something the Master would have done.

"Well, obviously he didn't," the Master told the Doctor, just to answer the question. "Because the programming wouldn't have allowed me to say no. As I'm sure you're aware."

There was a skeptical pause. "That's very unimaginative of him," the Doctor opined.

The Master shrugged casually. "Probably why he lost," he quipped.

The Doctor turned back to his bench, then back towards the Master, unconvinced. "He _must_ have tried something like that, at least once," he said. His eyes were sharp as he stared at his friend. Analytical, scanning for tiny details. "You might not remember."

The Master thought back to the gaps. He remembered Rassilon's pale green eyes. He remembered choices and pain and victories laced with shame and a loyalty to Gallifrey which hadn't even been his...

And another loyalty which _had_.

He realized that the Doctor was still watching him, insightful, observant. This Doctor saw everything. It was an annoying trait and sometimes the Master couldn't wait for him to regenerate.

"Why does it matter?" the Master asked, looking away uncomfortably.

"Because you _didn't_ ," the Doctor pointed out.

The Master turned back and the Doctor grinned, raising those wild eyebrows.

The Master closed his book with a smile, one finger marking the page he'd been on for nearly an hour. "My job was to win the War," he explained in his most condescendingly patient tone. "You were an asset. Sabotaging that would have made no sense."

"Hmm," the Doctor grumbled with a sly expression. 

They both returned to their projects.

But the Doctor had raised a good point. The programming had been to obey Rassilon, to fight for Gallifrey.

Not to protect the Doctor.

And the Doctor was right: Rassilon had never been very fond of him.

Thinking of choices, of dilemmas, of loyalties, the Master could sense a hundred different decisions flitting in the periphery of his memories...

Rassilon, Gallifrey, all of Time and Space... Or the Doctor.

The Time War had presented endless scenarios in which action or inaction could have betrayed the Doctor.

And the Master couldn't place the specific circumstances, not every time, but...

He knew what he had chosen.

He'd already saved the Doctor at the cost of his own life, after all. What was anything else in comparison to that?

It was just about consistency, really.

"Thanks for that," the Doctor said out of nowhere. 

It seemed that the Doctor had followed that train of thought as expertly as he often did.

This was why neither of them could ever be leader or follower for long: they had too much trouble staying ahead of each other.

The Master scoffed, raising his eyes to the heavens in amusement. "I didn't _do_ anything."

"Thanks for what you didn't do then," the Doctor said, not to be denied his gratitude.

"Anytime, Doctor," the Master smiled.

He absolutely meant it.

He would have fought Rassilon no matter what: it was just his nature. He would have broken, unable to win, the game rigged against him from the start. The pain, the insanity, the nightmares, the Drums... It all would have happened still, set in stone from the moment he was resurrected.

But the fact that Rassilon had tried to use him against the Doctor and continually failed put a new light on the trauma. 

Being the wrench in Rassilon's machinations against the Doctor _almost_ made it all worth it, in a way...

Rassilon had tried to make the War about himself. But the Master had redefined what they were fighting for. 

He hadn't chosen to be brought back to life, or to work for Rassilon, to be Gallifrey's faithful soldier, even to fight for his own freedom...

But he had chosen for himself what all that was about. What made it all worthwhile. What was really at stake on the grand stage of the Last Great Time War.

Because that's what the Master had _really_ been there for. Not for Gallifrey, not to serve Rassilon's demented agenda, not to save the Universe.

He couldn't care less about any of that.

He'd been there for his friend.

For the Doctor.

However they programmed him, however much they tortured him, whatever they made him do... They couldn't change that.

They'd never even understood it.

So maybe that was the answer to which parts had been him... Because saving the Doctor hadn't been anyone's agenda but his own.

The Doctor jumped up abruptly. "Are you bored?" he said, nearly shouting in the quiet Console room. "I'm bored."

The Master laughed, tossing his neglected book on the glass-topped desk. "Sure, yeah. I could be bored." He crossed his arms, staring at his friend with a crafty smile. "What did you have in mind?"

"Ooh, let's go old school," the Doctor said, quieter now. "I bet we could find a little nest of Daleks out there somewhere."

The Master scoffed in disbelief. "Seriously?"

The Doctor wanted to go hunt down some Daleks to kill? That sounded...

Actually, that sounded delightful.

"Why not?" the Doctor grinned. "I'm feeling nostalgic. And you and I were quite the team, as I recall. Or did you forget that?"

The Master smiled slowly, appreciating the Doctor's roundabout way of asking if those had been some of the good parts. "No... No, I didn't forget that."

The Doctor nodded, satisfied, a vulnerable joy showing in his eyes for just a moment before he hid it again.

And the Master realized that the Doctor might have his own questions about which parts of the Time War had been real...

That would have to be a conversation for another time.

Because the Doctor was all motion and excitement and wanted to go blow up Daleks. And it was a _perfect_ idea.

"Come on," he said conspiratorially to the Master, jerking his head towards the stairs up to the TARDIS's main level. "Let's remind them why they didn't win."

The Doctor shot out of sight and the TARDIS engines started up before the Master even had a chance to stand.

He checked his laser screwdriver was fully charged and deliberately followed the Doctor's haphazard path upstairs. The Doctor was doing his usual frantic dance around the TARDIS Console. The Master took his usual half of the controls without a word. The Doctor smiled at him from the other side before ducking his head again.

The Master _knew_ why the Daleks hadn't won. 

It was the same reason Rassilon hadn't won.

One impossible idiot with a screwdriver.

As much as he appreciated the Doctor including him when assigning credit for that, the Master had always known how the War would end.

Rassilon had thought it was about weapons, about assets, about control.

About blood. A forced loyalty to what you'd been born into.

Rassilon had been wrong. He'd never seen his error and probably never would.

But the Master knew.

He'd learned over the centuries that while most of the Universe might play by the rules, there was always one exception.

And that the reality was so much harder to understand than what Rassilon saw. Incomprehensible and unforeseeable, even with all the resources of the Time Lords at your disposal...

Sometimes the entire Universe hung on one man's completely illogical choice.

If Rassilon had been a little smarter, he would have made the choice the Master had: protect the Doctor. At all costs, as if the very fate of Time and Space itself depended on it.

Because it _did_.

And it was obvious, really, if you knew the Doctor. If you'd seen what he could do.

The Master had learned firsthand.

The simple truth was that _no one_ could win against the Doctor.

The Doctor's side was _always_ the winning side.

Sometimes it was just smarter to fight _with_ him rather than against him.

And also sometimes far more fun...

The Master smiled, anticipating the mess they were about to land in.

It was going to be a bad day to be a Dalek.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew...
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!
> 
> Comments appreciated!!!
> 
> ... And a BIG **THANK YOU** to IncomingAlbatross for supporting me through this. I did NOT have a good time writing this fic and she heard a lot about that. Thank you, sister! :) <3

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, here we go...
> 
> This has some references to headcanons I haven't written about yet, mainly the Omega/TV Movie arc... Spoilers, lol. I haven't written that yet. If you're confused... Well, I haven't written it, so I don't have answers for you yet. ;)
> 
> Also for those of you who know the Classic Series, Rassilon and the Master _have_ sort of met, briefly, in _The Five Doctors_. The Master doesn't remember that because Rassilon wiped that whole story from his mind at the end. (Open to interpretation in the Canon, but that's the conclusion I came to.)
> 
> On to Chapter 2...


End file.
